


A Dangerous Woman

by composewithcolour



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, it is dragon age after all, tiny bit of gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-05-07 02:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/composewithcolour/pseuds/composewithcolour
Summary: After the events at the Circle Tower, Neria Surana is struggling with the idea of her own magic. In torment, she turns to the assassin for reassurance. Now an ongoing story, following the two as they struggle to come to terms with what they both want. Focuses on a relationship with Zevran which doesn’t start with sex but grows through intimacy instead...





	1. A Dangerous Woman

**Author's Note:**

> So it turns out that I can't play DAO without falling in love with Zevran again. I apologise for his dialogue in this, I struggle to write his character but I just had to write some of the scenes I had in my head for my warden. I'm always really interested in overly sexualised characters falling in love with characters before sex is even on the table. More added, rating pushed up a little. Who was I kidding, this will most definitely lead to smut...

Zevran was the last one awake, the others having retired to their bedrolls, or in Shale's case - standing motionless by a rock. He poked absentmindedly at the open fire, keeping the flame alight as the moon hid behind the clouds.

It was the first night he had been left on his own to keep watch. It was a small thing, but it was a strange feeling to know the camp had begun to trust him. Albeit, the wardens were forever aware of the presence of darkspawn, and he was not at all certain that Morrigan even slept. All the same, it left a hollow feeling in his gut – to have these strangers (could they still be strangers after a couple months fighting and bleeding side by side?) feel at ease around him, knowing what he was.

His twin daggers felt heavy at his sides. The warden was asleep in her tent. It would be a small matter to pull the material aside, and slide his knife up into her jugular, gently, sweetly as if he was merely kissing her goodnight.

“ _Zev_?”

He jumped at the sound of her voice, his hand reaching instinctively for his dagger. He stopped the movement before it was noticed, “dear Warden, you startled me! I am ashamed to be caught so easily,”

Neria smiled, tucking her dark hair behind her ear, “well it wouldn't be the first time.”

“Oh!” he covered his heart, “How you wound me so! You are truly a dangerous woman, my dear.”

The moment he had spoken he could see he had said something wrong. Over their time together he had built up an easy rapport, learning just the right things to say and not to say to gain her favour. He thought he knew her, but as her smile fell, he feared that he had miss-stepped. Why else would he feel a twist in his chest at the sight of his discomfort?

“...Neria?” he said her name for the first time, drawing her eyes back to him, “I am sorry if I-”

She collapsed down onto the roll beside him, falling to her knees and then to the side so she was brushed up against his arm. Tears were glistening in her eyes, although she was trying not to let them show. Her dainty nose wrinkled with the effort. For a moment she was silent. Just when Zevran thought she wasn't going to speak, her small voice spoke out over the crackling of the fire, “I can't stop thinking about it,” she glanced at him through wet eyelashes, “ the tower.”

Ah. Zevran hummed in affirmation. The tower, had been on his mind too, what with the memories so fresh, and the horrid stench still filling his nostrils. His arms ached as if he had truly been on the rack, back with the crows. How that was possible when it had been a dream, Zevran did not know. He was trying hard not to think of it. Everything about the fade had felt wrong, and he was glad to have his feet firmly back in reality.

When he had seen her in the dream, she had glowed.

He could not understand magic.

“Cullen, the way he had looked at me...he was to cut me down the day of my harrowing, and even then he didn't look at me like that. He...he _hated_ me.”

Zevran gathered his words, “I cannot speak for the Templar, different as we are, but I do, however, know the face of a tortured man. I would...take his words lightly, for they were not spoken with clarity of thought.”

“Weren't they? I always thought my home to be a safe place, my magic a result of learning and faith. But to see my friends, my family twisted and,” she spat the word, “ _defiled..._ I fear everything I knew was a lie.”

“Oh, my dear warden,” he breathed. Words came so naturally to him. He was known in many a brothel for his ability to tell great tales of heroism and debauchery even whilst in the act of passion. Even when a knife was held to his throat, could he spin a story. His tongue had saved him from many a danger (and aided him in many a victory), but with the young mage pressed to his side, her heart breaking in two, he found all words escaped him.

“You must never let me become like them. If I cannot escape this evil embedded in me, you must fulfil your original oath and kill me,” he moved to speak, but she continued a crazed look in her eye, “you can return to Antiva, just...help Alistair first. This is my only request of you, please, you must do as I ask. Promise me, you are the only one I can trust with this-”

Zevran grabbed her by the shoulders, interrupting the flow of madness. “stop! Stop with this! Where does this come from, sweet warden? You are the most innocent of women I know, no matter how greatly I try to corrupt you. No evil will touch you, this I can promise,”

She shook beneath his grip, her eyes wide, her breath leaving her in great whimpers, but she was silent.

He was not used to being in such a position of comfort, not whilst fully clothed, but he knew his words rung true as he said them. He had watched her a great deal since they had met. He had noticed the way her lips moved in prayer over the dead, a great sadness in her actions, even as they attacked her with no provocation. The way she laughed freely and found such wonder in every little detail of the outside world. Dancing with leliana, stargazing as if the stars themselves might disappear, cooing at her giant Mabari (as if he was a small pup) climbing, oversized as he was, into her tiny lap.

“You have a gentle heart,” he said quietly, watching the blush rise from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. How she blushed at kind words, but merely smiled at his dirty jokes still surprised him.

He released her as she visibly relaxed. Neria turned back to the fire, watching the flames jump and dance, as alive with magic as that which flowed in her veins. For a couple minutes they sat in companionable silence as she processed her fears, her own arms wrapped tightly around her.

Neria gave a deep sigh, surprising Zevran out of the recess of his mind he had fallen into, only to feel her head rest against his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I didn't mean it all to come out like that. I get this feeling of dread, deep in my chest, like this...this bubble of anxiety that I just can't control. I just need to know that I'm a good person...that I'm doing the right things, making the right choices. How can I save the world, if I can't keep my friends safe? If I can't keep my self safe?”

“Hm, that is true,”

She stiffened next to him.

“Here I am injured, bleeding out if you will...” he lifted the hand that was between them, a blood stained cloth wrapped tightly around his palm.

“Zevran!” she gasped grabbing his hand, “why didn't you tell me!” she carefully untied the bandage and covered the thin cut with her own hand, glowing blue with spirit magic. He could feel the vibrations and warmth coming from her skin, the faint tingle of magic that he had yet to get used to.

A moment passed, and the light was gone, her tender fingertips brushing a light pink scar on his hand.

“Magic,” Zevran chuckled under his breath, “a wonder. As good as the woman who wields it. Fear not, dear warden, for I do not,”

He watched her rose-coloured lips lift her cheeks into the sweetest of smiles. She wrapped herself around his arm, pressing her head back against his shoulder, body relaxed and content. Her hand was still held lightly in his own, her fingertips still caressing the skin she healed, exploring the length of his own calloused fingers, joining their hands together only to release him to adventure once more against the lines of his palm.

She appeared to be doing it absent-mindedly, back to watching the fire, but Zevran watched their hands with great interest. His body had been explored many a time, by hand, by tongue, but never did one pay such attention to one singular, non-intimate part. But it _was_ intimate. He felt a warmth deep in his belly, his heart fluttering playfully in his chest. He turned their hands over, and ran his fingers over hers, brushing the metal bands imbued with yet more magic; lay his palm flat against her own, smaller hands, more powerful than he could imagine, and yet so, so delicate.

“You have a gentle heart too, Zev,” she spoke as if under her own magic, “a _good_ heart.” Neria softly lifted her head, her breath carrying up along the line of his neck. His face was turned to her, pulled by her movement. Her nose bumped lightly against his chin, his cheek, till her sweet lips pressed chastely against his own. The kiss was soft, his lips gracing hers, irrevocably drawn to one another, in a single breathless taste.

“ _Neria_?” a voice called, muffled from within a distant tent.

She pulled away, her fingertips touching her own lips in wonder.

“I'm up, Alistair,” she answered, her wide eyes never leaving Zevran's gaze. He couldn't look away, “...time to move on.”

Zevran sat in a daze as she rose from her seat, disappearing back into her own tent to pack for the day. He was frozen to the spot, lost in the sensation of the palpitations of his heart, and her breath, still upon his lips.

A dangerous woman indeed.

 


	2. Lies and Dares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden and her companions continue on their journey, returning to the horrors at Lothering and turning to alcohol to lift their spirits. Neria tries to work out exactly what is going on between Zevran and herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I couldn't leave the first part as a stand alone piece. I'm really enjoying writing again so I've decided to add more to the story and create a full story. This gave me a chance to write more of the other companions as well, although my heart is still with Neria and Zevran.

Neria travelled into the fade and pulled Connor back into his mind. It wasn't the first demon she had faced, but one of the first that had taken the time to talk to her, to prey on the darkest of her thoughts. The desire demon was a beautiful creature, and its eyes burned with a fire that seemed to draw her in. For a moment it didn't seem like a demon at all, almost familiar as it drew close, the fire turning a golden brown, a glimpse of laughter lines and the smell of rich leather.

This demon, however, was too easy with its deceptions. Compared to her harrowing, this thing of desire was sloppy, too quick to reveal its hand.

_Magic. A wonder. As good as the woman who wields it._

She cast away her gaze and drew forth a prison that crushed the demon with spirit magic until the creature collapsed into the void.

Awaking to Connor sleeping peacefully in her arms brought a long lost smile to her lips.

 

*

 

“I wanted to thank you,” Alistair matched his pace to hers as they left the village of Redcliffe, “you didn't have to go out of your way to save him. But I'm glad you did. It really was the best option.”

She gave an easy smile, “It really was, wasn't it! I'm just glad the circle could help. I don't think I could bear it if another child was lost.”

They fell into companionable silence as they walked, Alistair remaining close to her side. He seemed to be deep in thought, glancing at her and throwing her a smile every time he was caught. Their camp-mates followed shortly behind. Sten was stoic as usual, despite Morrigan's constant poking and attempt to get a rise out of him. Wynne was reprimanding Arthur, the Mabari, for the thick mud built up around his paws, and the dead bird hanging out between his jaws. Arthur gave a loud bark in disagreement, followed by a whimper as he lost his meal along the road. The elderly mage sighed, as the dog bounded off to regain his treat.

The conversation that Neria couldn't help but listen to was that of Leliana and Zevran.

“Have I mentioned how uncommon red hair is in Antiva?” his tongue wrapped around every word in that enticing accent of his. She couldn't help but listen to every word, even if she just happened to be catching it on the breeze.

“Once or twice, I believe,” Leliana replied.

“Indeed. Ah, yes, it is quite the exotic sight in Antiva. There was this one particular whore, a rather creative poet if I remember, who had auburn locks that brushed the floor. She created quite a reputation for tying up her lovers with said hair, whilst in the throes of passion. She made quite a fortune, I might add.”

“...and you mean to flatter me by comparing me to this prostitute?”

“But of course! She was a great beauty, and there is nothing to be ashamed of for selling ones body for a living. If your Chantry does not offer you satisfaction, perhaps one of the Antivan whorehouses might?”

Leliana sighed, “I have nothing against prostitutes, Zevran. It is the obvious attempt at flattery that I object to,”

“Hm, so I need to be more subtle in my attempts? That is great advice indeed,” Zevran chuckled.

Wynne soon interjected, saving the sister from yet more flirting, only to come under the full force of it herself. Apparently Wynne's bosoms would make the perfect pillows should they all become too tired from the journey. Zevran was quite happy to try them out.

Neria laughed along at his jokes, ignoring the little twist of jealousy in her chest. It wasn't as if Zevran was ignoring her since they shared a quick kiss in the early morning days before. In fact he was treating her exactly the same as before.

He would tell her stories, maybe send the occasional lewd remark in her direction, before flirting with Morrigan and Leliana, and sometimes Alistair. She didn't mind per say...just...

No. It was fine. He owed her nothing, and she had but kissed him on a whim, even if it was after what had felt like a vastly different, intimate moment from what was usually shared between them.

“so...should we?” said Alistair pulling her from her thoughts.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Lost you for a moment, did I?” he teased, “I was saying about the Sacred Urn. What do you think? Should we try?”

She knew what Alistair wanted. He would do anything to save the man who raised him. Whether Arl Eamon's help with the blight would be as vital as they other treaties she did not know, but she could feel Alistair's inner turmoil at walking away from Redcliffe.

“Yes. I think we should try,” Alistair's face lit up as she spoke, “I thought we could take the road back to the Brecillian Forest and look for the Dalish. From there it's not far to Denerim. We can try and find Brother Genitivi.”

“Have I ever told you how brilliant you are?”

“Frequently,” she said. Neria looked back over her shoulder and caught Zevran's eye. He seemed unprepared to meet her gaze, his eyes wide at being caught staring at her (her or her behind she couldn't be sure). He relaxed and gave her a sly wink, before turning to continue his conversation with Wynne.

 

*

 

Neria had all but forgotten about the little town, until she came back upon its remains. Upon the bridge where she had first met Bodahn and Sandal she saw the true reality of the blight.

Lothering was gone.

Sure the carcasses of buildings remained, stripped and tainted, whilst blood stained the grass, the only sign that life had once lived here. There were no crows picking at corpses, for even the scavengers avoided the land tarnished with such death and destruction.

“How...?” she asked the wind. Sure when her party had first arrived at Lothering, the refugees were readying themselves for the oncoming darkspawn. Everywhere they had turned, they had been told to move on lest they wait too long. But that had only been months ago. _Months._

Lothering was a ghost town. A graveyard of a time long past, even with the scent of carrion in the air. The land itself was infected, a festering wound. It was like something out of the fade.

Alistair pulled forward in front of her, armour clanking in the silence as he descended into the fields.

“ _Maker_ ,” whispered Leliana's lone voice.

Together they made their way into the centre of the town. It felt all too eerie. Evidence of darkspawn was everywhere, yet the actually creatures were yet to be seen.

Her companions, usually so full of spirit, regardless of what they faced, were now solemn. Even Zevran, so used to death, seemed reverential, each step light so as to not disturb the dead.

“Fools. Why stay, with knowledge of what was on its way?” said Morrigan, although her words lacked their usual sharpness.

“No one could expect this,” said Wynne.

They passed by the Inn where they had met Leliana. One of the Templars were pinned against its walls. He was easily identified by his uniform, but not by his head which seemed to have been separated from his body long before. In the background of her mind, Neria was aware of the prayers being said by the red-headed sister, but she could not concentrate on the words.

She stopped, turning to face her companions. They appeared shell-shocked, nauseated at best.

“This is why we must continue,” Neria raised her voice above the prayers, “we all knew that this was a possible outcome, not just for Lothering, but for Ferelden. The darkspawn spread their filth wherever they go, but we must have faith that there are those who have survived to see a better day. We will not let this spread any further. One day life will grow here again.”

Alistair nodded, her words giving him courage, “hear, hear.”

“Well, I for one would rather return at a later date, than sit here and wait, hm?”

“We can't just leave, Zevran!” cried Leliana, “we have to do something. Hold a memorial, or...plant a tree or something.”

Morrigan scoffed, “yes, of course. Why bother even fighting the blight, whilst we can weep and mourn like babes pulled from their mother teat? Our tears shall surely bring back the dead...”

“ _Must you be so vile_?” Leliana scowled, eyes glistening.

“Bitch,” Alistair muttered.

“Enough!” Neria hissed. Whilst they had been arguing, she felt the sensation creep up on her, like a stirring in her blood. They weren't alone, “ _Darkspawn_!”

She'd heard of them crawling out of holes, but they were literally tearing up through the earth, rotten hands grabbing at their feet. As if a natural instinct she spread a cleansing aura over the group, clearing their minds and bringing them to their senses, to grab at their weapons and take formation.

She felt him suddenly at her side. How he had crossed the distance so quickly, she could not know, but feeling Zevran was there, daggers in hand, protecting her flank at once. The hands that had once tried to kill her were now sworn to protect her, and never did he leave her alone on the battlefield.

Together they fought.

 

*

 

They made camp far from Lothering, despite walking through the night and the following day. It was never discussed, but no one complained as they marched, battered and filthy as they were. They settled near by a river, taking turns in groups to clean the stench of blood and sweat from their skin. Despite the nightmares they had faced once more, it was a relief to wash away the days before.

Neria returned to camp, swathed in her cloak, her bare feet sinking into the grass. The fire lit their surroundings, and her camp-mates gathered close, sharing bread and once again finding the joy in one another's company. It was hard to forget the hardships they had faced, harder yet to forget what was to come, but so easily did they forget the goodness of people and the embrace of a friend.

She smiled at the sight. They would save everyone, and everything would be alright. She would make sure of it.

As she reached her friends, she passed them by and disappeared into her tent. She heard a collective groan outside, “you can't go to sleep, you haven't had anything to eat yet,” Alistair pulled at the hanging of her tent.

“Who said anything about going to sleep?” she answered, her back turned to him as she pulled out a bag from her belongings. She dragged the heavy satchel back out into the firelight, “I thought we could all do with a little pick me up,”

There was a loud clink of glass as she sat cross-legged among them, the satchel falling over. One by one she pulled out bottle after bottle of alcohol she had collected as they had travelled. Sack Mead, White Shear, Antivan whisky, and many more followed.

“Uh...how long have you been carrying those around?” asked Alistair looking at her incredulously .

“I started in Ostagar, 'been collecting them ever since.”

“Allow me to rephrase... _how_ have you been carrying all this around?”

Neria shrugged, “magic.”

Wynne gave a soft laugh, reaching forward for one of the fine bottles of wine she had picked up from Arl Eamon's basement, “alcohol smuggling became quite the skill of the young apprentices in the tower. Not that I thought our own warden to be quite the kleptomaniac.”

“I was keeping them for the right occasion.”

Zevran broke the wax seal on the Antivan whisky, and inhaled deeply, his eyes rolling back in his head, “Ahh,” he sighed, then pouted, “now I am homesick.”

Morrigan hovered on the edge of the camp, attempting to look disinterested but was drawn in by the warmth of the fire and the promise of alcohol. Bottles were quickly shared around, tired bodies relaxed and Arthur snored loudly, sound asleep on his back, paws in the air.

Leliana gasped, her eyes already slightly hazed, “we should play a game!”

“We most certainly need not,” Morrigan answered having perched on a log nearby.

“ _You_ don't have to play,” she screwed up her face at the witch, “a function isn't a party in Orlais unless there are games!”

“I don't know...” said Alistair, “most drinking games end with me in nothing but my small-clothes trying to explain to the revered mother why I've been tied to the foot of her bed.”

Neria bumped into him with her shoulder, “oh come on! The nearest revered mother is half of Ferelden away! As for your small-clothes...well you'd have to get your armour off first,”

The Templar turned bright red, the colour rising to the tips of his ears. Somewhere to her left she heard Zevran clear his throat, “as a great lover of games and alcohol alike, I can tell you that when you have no cards to play strip wicked grace, the next best thing is ' _lies and dares'.”_

“Don't you mean _truth_ or dare?” Neria asked, having played the game herself many a time in the tower.

Zevran smiled, his voice like velvet, “not when you play to win, my dear,”

 

*

 

As much as her companions clashed, Neria always believe there was a certain kinship to their group; lost souls, searching for a higher purpose. They were strong, warriors and mages alike... _the darkspawn should fear them_.

Neria giggled helplessly, swaying where she sat. The floor was moving beneath her, and the sky seemed to be rushing down to meet it. The stars looked so pretty when they were spinning.

Alistair was laughing with her, as if they were sharing in a private joke, despite neither of them having actually spoken a word in several minutes. The blush that had lit his cheeks now spread down his neck and across his bare chest. Despite early protestations, Alistair was sat quite comfortably in nothing but his small-clothes and his armoured boots. The cold nip of the air seemed to bother him little, what with the roar of amber spirits coursing through his blood.

Wynne seemed to be holding up better than most, although the odd hiccup escaped her lips. She hummed happily under her breath, some long lost waltz deep in her memories.

Leliana was cooing as she braided Morrigan's hair, practically rubbing her cheek against its silken lengths, “why do you tie your hair up? It is so beautiful and long...” she trailed off, thrilled with getting Morrigan to agree to her 'dare'.

“...I..,” Morrigan blinked, her usually quick mind significantly dulled, “...shut up.”

Sten was tickling Arthur's belly, murmuring, “good boy,” over and over. They had pulled out a fair few soft truths about the stern giant, from his love of cookies to his fondness for dancing, which he had been subsequently dared to perform. Qunari box dancing was...something else, but Wynne had clapped along happily all the same.

They had all been sworn to silence (with the great-sword held menacingly in the giant's hands), dampening the mood a little...before Alistair started giggling like a child, and was made to lose yet another layer.

“Neria! It is your turn!” Leliana squeaked.

Even through the haze of alcohol and the dazzling light of the fire in the darkness, Neria's mind was clear enough to know what she wanted.

“I want the truth...from Zevran,” she leaned towards him, where he had been lounging lazily watching his camp-mates fall from grace. The assassin's eyes traced over the lines of her face, finding her closer than she had been since...

“and what truth would that be, dear warden?”

She'd forgotten the deep colour of his eyes like scorched caramel, and she found herself falling, falling...she caught herself and pulled back out of his radius. That scent of leather and spice followed her back, along with the strong stench of whisky. Or perhaps that was her own breath...

“Why did you stay?” she asked. He gave her a confused look so she continued, “you know I would let you go if you were only to ask. So why stay?”

He adjusted his position slightly where he lounged, thinking about the question, “I made a vow,” he said, “I told you, I happen to be very loyal up until a point.”

It wasn't the answer she wanted. It was more words without really ever telling the whole story, “that's all?”

“That's all.”

Neria sat back in the nest of blankets she had made for herself. She felt more sober then she had only moments ago. Only a week or so ago had she opened her heart in front of him, told him all her fears and regrets. She trusted Zevran, but she knew a liar when she saw them.

“Enough. These questions lead to nothing,” Sten's deep voice called over the fire, “there is no point to this game if there are no actions. I must dare someone, yes? I choose Alistair.”

Alistair's head poked up from where it had been slipping off his hand, “who, me?”

“Do you have another name? It is time you behave as a warrior, as you like to call yourself. A true warrior would not allow himself to be distracted on the battlefield. Take the Warden, and rut if you must. You will lead us to destruction with your...pining,” the Qunari spat the last word with distaste.

The ale, that Alistair had been downing, was spat out over the fire, which exploded in a high column of flame. He coughed, his eyes watering. Neria leant over and slapped him on the back.

“ _Rut?”_ he spluttered.

“I think he's referring to sex,” Neria said matter of factly. She had never partaken herself, but she had heard many a name for the act among her fellow mages. It wasn't the worst she had heard.

“...I don't think this is that kind of game, Sten,” Leliana said softly patting his arm.

“Then dispense of the game. You Fereldens are impractical. Had he been one of the Qunari, the Templar would have been sent to the Tamassrans long ago. If the Archdemon had landed in Seheron, the blight would already be over.”

Alistair interjected “We're not in Seheron! And, as a point I would like to make, _I have not been pining_!”

“Oh, come now,” said Morrigan, “you may as well have been drawing little love hearts all over your shield like a young maiden, for all the sickening looks you've been throwing her.”

“I..I have not!”

A loud snore, broke over the camp as Arthur rolled over in his sleep.

Zevran had been silent throughout, watching the debacle, from his relaxed position. The lazy smile had slipped from his face. For once he seemed to be intent on the game and the discussions at foot, “I believe that the dare has been refused, and therefore we must move on,” he said.

The witch's sharp eyes turned to him, “Not without forfeit,”

“Then a compromise?” said Leliana, looking to Sten, “Alistair could simply... _kiss_ Neria. It may be enough to calm the blood, and return Alistair to fighting spirit? Enough to fulfill the intention of the dare.”

Sten's face was like stone, even as he took a swig of the clear spirit he'd been drinking, “agreed.”

“Hang on just a moment, you can't just...” Alistair began.

“I don't mind,” said Neria, silencing Alistair instantly.

“...Wait, what?”

She felt the assassin's eyes on her more than saw them, but she forced herself to keep her gaze on Alistair, “what kind of leader would I be if I allowed my companion to suffer a forfeit? What is a kiss? To many it means...simply nothing,” she said loud enough for the others to hear.

Before Alistair could try to refuse (gentleman as he was, even with the bulge in his small-clothes giving way to talk of rutting and kissing the young elf) she gripped the back of his neck and pulled him against her lips.

Shocked as he was, Alistair's lips quickly melded to her own his eagerness taking control of his senses.

It was nice enough.

Quite lovely actually. He was warm and soft, and he took little, pulling back with a giddy smile. There was something distinctly more human about him. Perhaps it was his size, or even his smell, but it was a different kind of nice.

And yet...it wasn't Zevran. It wasn't like that kiss they had shared, so intimate and breathless. It just wasn't him.

 

*

 

The others had retired to bed. Alistair had carried Wynne back to her tent, calling an end to the drinking and games after she had passed out, and he had disappeared shortly after. Neria had decided to hold first watch, feeling decidedly more sober than the others. The buzz she had felt early in the night, had flown quickly out of the window. She found it hard to get drunk anyway, what with the constant buzz of lyrium in her veins, and her elven genes.

She gathered her cloak around her, beginning to feel the chill now she was alone. She walked between the tents, looking for movement, checking that her camp-mates had not fallen ill.

A hand tugged her arm, spinning her suddenly into someone's chest.

“How ever did I fail to kill you?” Zevran's soft voice purred in the darkness.

She relaxed in his embrace, pressing her cheek against his leather cuirass. His hands pressed lightly on her hips, “I'm not as delicate as I look. Nor so foolish,” she said. A little spirit magic, and for just a second, it was as if a hand closed over Zevran's throat, his breath taken from him. Just as quickly it was released and the assassin groaned in her ear,

“I will remember that one for later,” the light rumble of laughter, reverberated through her cheek. She liked the sound.

He moved quickly lifting her chin and taking her lips as if he owned them. His body pressed even closer to her own, hands moving up her sides and then sliding into her hair. This was no singular kiss like before, but a tirade of pecks, and slow touching of their lips as if he was breathing her in. He would draw her lower lip between his own, only to release it with a small tease of his tongue, before he would disappear all together languishing open mouthed kisses down her neck.

She felt like she was drowning in him. All senses engulfed by this one man who wished to possess everything she was.

Zevran touched his forehead to her own, deep breaths being shared between them. Her lips felt bruised and punished, but well-loved.

“Come back to my tent,” he said simply, as if it was a mere thing to ask.

She shook her head lightly, “not tonight.”

He kissed along the line of her jaw, murmuring sweet nothings, “are you sure I cannot convince you? The others are too drunk to hear...”

“That's not the issue. I don't want to,” she said softly cupping his cheek, stopping his incoming attack on her lips. He blinked at her, staying still in her hands.

“I...apologise, I thought this is what you wished,” he matched the tenderness in her voice, only for the slight vulnerability in his face to disappear in an instant, like a cloth pulled from a table, “ah well, easy-come, easy-go, yes? Or, no _coming_ at all as it maybe,”

He pulled away so quickly, Neria had to stumble after him to grab his arm,

“ _Don't._..don't do that,” she said.

He licked his lips, straightening his back, “do what, exactly?”

“Turn from me so quickly. Act like it is all jokes until it is dark and we are alone. Do you only seek my company until I do not wish to go to bed?”

Zevran sighed, “I don't know what it is you want from me, dear Warden. I thought I did, but obviously I am mistaken,” he did not meet her eyes when he spoke again, “Perhaps you wish I was Alistair?”

It took a moment for his words to make sense in her ears. A fire lit within her, “or perhaps I can comment on how you are only with me now because Leliana refused you? What is it exactly that you want from _me?_ Do you want to kill me, or fuck me? Because sometimes I am unsure. Perhaps you humour me, only doing what you think you need to, to fulfill your vow? A kiss here, to make the warden happy, an easy offer of sex, but ignore an actual chance to talk and know you? I will not be another one of your conquests, Zev, just another story to tell the next maiden who allows you to live.”

He stared at her in silence, his face hard and unreadable. She wished, maker how did she wish, that for once he would talk to her in earnest. Was it so bad for her to want more than sex from him? To be more than just another maidenhead on a list of many. His previous life meant little to her. He could of fucked the Empress of Orlais for all she cared. But if he was to touch her, to take her in every possible way, he would have to at least care that it meant something, if only to her.

Did he even feel anything for her?

Through tight lips he spoke, “as you wish,” and with a curt bow, he turned and walked away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write anything without it turning into Angst!! The Warden still has a lot to learn about Zevran and why he won't allow himself close. Will be turning over to Zevran's pov in the next chapter.


	3. Jaws of the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neria and Zevran travel deep into Brecilian Forest, unaware of what danger lies in wait, and just how fragile life can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but i hope you enjoy!

Zevran was by no means a superstitious man, but as he walked beneath the twisted oak trees, and heard them creak and groan around them, he couldn't help but believe that dark spirits lingered in Brecilian Forest. The air was incredibly still, and yet the branches of trees seemed to move when he wasn't looking directly at them. Even the path seemed to start and stop, suddenly leading them in new directions, or disappearing altogether from where they once came.

"The trees...I think they are watching us," Zevran called forward to the other. His voice echoed around them; he hoped the trees didn't hear him.

"This forest is very old. I think it would be wise to show it our respect," said Wynne.

Neria hadn't spoken since they entered the forest. She watched the remains of sunlight filtering through the trees with a reverence he'd only seen in the truly devout. A faint light glowed from her staff as she led them deeper and deeper into the forest. She didn't seem concerned by the tree's movements, her fingers brushing their bark as she passed close by. He couldn't help but wonder if there was Dalish in her blood.

He forced his eyes away from her.

They'd only taken a few steps further, when his ears twitched. A faint rustle of the leaves nearby caught his attention; a broken twig underfoot, a catch of breath. He slowed, placing his hand lightly on the dagger at his belt.

Neria looked back over her shoulder at him, the very tip of her ears turned to the sound of the movement. He met her gaze, ignoring the tug in his stomach. He nodded at her.

Before the first arrow could fly, Neria sprung a barrier which wrapped tightly around them. Zevran turned and threw a knife blindly through the trees, to which he heard a receiving grunt on the other end as it hit its target. Leliana and Wynne jumped, only just becoming aware of the disturbance. To their due, Wynne launched a cleansing aura instantly, without even being able to set eyes on their assailants, whilst Leliana, crouched low retrieving her bow from her back and notched several arrows in one swift movement.

"Halt!" called a voice from somewhere above them, "you are trespassing on Dalish land. Turn back or you will be forced."

“Please! We will lower our weapons, we mean no harm, we wish to speak to your Keeper,” Neria motioned to her companions to follow her command. They did as she asked, but refused to put their weapons away completely.

“Mean no harm? You have assaulted one of our own. Leave now, the Keeper shall not see you this day, or any other.”

Zevran opened his mouth to defend his instinct to attack, but Neria cut over him before he had the chance.

“My companion was defending us, that is all. We knew not what we might encounter in this forest. I beseech you, allow us to speak with your Keeper. My name is Neria Surana. I am a Grey Warden, and we need your help.”

Silence. For a moment he feared that the Dalish may just attack them anyway, until a lithe elf slid out from the brush, quickly followed by others. Tattoos not unlike his own covered their foreheads, but were brightly coloured. He'd heard of it before, when he'd hoped to run away to join them. Vallasiln. Blood writing.

“You might have said before. The Keeper told us to expect you,” the leader said.

“You're expecting us?” Leliana sounded surprised. Yet another miracle of the maker no doubt.

“We are not ignorant of the darkspawn. We would have already moved on if not for...Zathrian will tell you more. Come,” she turned on her heel (Zevran noticed their bare feet – highly impractical) and walked away, simply expecting them to follow.

Zevran sidled up next to the warden, “I would be cautious, the Dalish aren't particularly known for their hospitality.”

“Really? I'd never have guessed.”

She walked on, not turning to look at him. Things had been tense since he'd tried to sleep with her, and she had refused him. It had mattered little to him, he told himself, he had merely offered a service, one that she had every right to refuse. Sex, was just sex, the crows had taught him it well. He wish they had taught him how to deal with someone who wasn't interested...not when he couldn't simply kill them anyway. At least she hadn't kicked him from the group for his advances.

But how could he have read it so wrong? She had flirted with him, of that he was sure, and the kisses they had shared had been full of an intimacy he could only associate with sex.

An elf bumped past him where he stood still, knocking him from this thoughts. The elf glared at him as he passed, holding onto his shoulder where blood had stained his armour.

Well at least he could still hit a target.

 

*

 

“Greetings Warden, I apologise for the hostile welcome. We have not survived this long by not protecting our camps,” Zathrian the Keeper had taken Neria by the arm walking them around the aravels. Zevran followed them closely. There was something about the keeper he was unsure of, despite his relatively warm greeting.

Despite keeping his guard, He couldn't help but let his eyes wander. It had been many years since he had sought to find the Dalish, but his mother had belonged to a clan such as this. The other elves watched him warily, but he looked at them with great interest as they attended to the Halla, prepared meals and hung up washing to dry. Life was much the same wherever you went. A small array of makeshift beds caught his eye between the aravels. Injured, or sick perhaps. Someone was attending them, but the majority of the camp seemed to be kept at some distance from them.

“We would be glad to help your cause, but unfortunately I cannot pull up camp just yet. My people are suffering, and yet more dangers lie in the forest around us. We are being hunted. Some of us have already gone missing,” Zathrian seemed distressed – seemed being the word.

“Hunted?” Neria genuinely sounded concerned. She always cared so deeply for everyone that they met. It was endearing...but he couldn't help but fear that her innocence would hurt her in the end.

“A great beast, a wolf lies within this forest. It is known to us as Witherfang, and it brings with it a great curse. Were-wolves hunt my people, and infect those who are not killed. We are not safe here, yet I cannot leave those who are injured, you must understand.”

Neria's eyes were wide, her hand over her heart, “of course. We would not ask that of you. Is there anyway we can help? Wynne and I are healers, perhaps we could have a look?”

“We may at least be able relieve their pain, make them more comfortable,” said Wynne softly.

The Keeper quickly interjected, “I appreciate the offer, but my second has already done everything we can. I fear they shall not be healed, unless the curse is broken.”

“Let me guess, you wish us to hunt this Witherfang?” said Zevran, he brushed Neria's back lightly, trying to warn her she was being manipulated. Without so much as showing a sign, he felt her hand reach up behind her back and touch his own in acknowledgment. He released a breath, relived to feel her respond in kind, even if it was just a brush of her fingertips. Perhaps she had forgiven him.

Zathrian didn't look at Zevran, “I would expect no such favour of you Warden. I just fear I can be of no help to you whilst this matter persists.”

“What do you know of the curse?” Neria asked politely. Whenever talking of magic, a fierce intelligence burnt in her eyes.

“The curse? The clans have been wary of this place for near on three hundred years. It is rumoured the curse began due to a feud between the Dalish and a band of local humans who attacked them. Not much more is known, but we cannot help but return here, we are proud of our history, and this place holds many memories for us.”

Neria nodded, “it is hard to let go of things that hold such importance to us and our ancestors. If not for the Dalish I fear I would have no memories of my people at all. I will gladly venture into the forest and seek this Witherfang if I can help my kin.”

The keeper gave a great show of surprise, bowing to the warden, “I had never thought to find kin outside of the Dalish, but you have proved me wrong, sister. Once the curse has ended, we would be honoured to help you.”

She smiled kindly, bowing in return. The keeper offered them provisions, before heading off to return to his duties.

“So we are to do his bidding?” Zevran whispered once the keeper was out of sight.

Neria turned to him, smile still in place, “I want to know exactly what is going on here. Regardless of where the threat comes from, we need them...and I think they need us.”

 

*

 

 

As soon as the morning light touched the clearing, they headed back into the depths of Brecilian forest. At least now they had a greater idea of where they were headed, having been given directions by the scouts.

It didn’t take long to come into danger. As if the wolves knew they had been speaking about them, they had barely turned a corner away from camp before they were ambushed. They were easy enough to dispatch although the savagery of their attacks was something Zevran had never seen before. Darkspawn were one thing, but these things were beasts, with incredible speed and deadly claws.

You would think they would be the worst things you could find in this forest, but after finding a man-eating camp, a tree that only spoke in rhyme and a mad man who attacked them for looking in his tree stump, Zevran dreaded what else they would find.

They descended into the ruins, howls echoing off the walls around them. Neria shivered, gripping her cloak tight. Zevran was glad to know the sense of foreboding was not his alone.

“I don't suppose they'd have thought to decorate,” whispered Leliana as if she feared to speak too loud.

Zevran forced a chuckle,“no, no, surely the cobwebs and rubble is intentional? A rustic feel perhaps,”

A faint clicking sound came from the walls of the corridor they walked through. It seemed to disappear.

The deeper they went the more alive the place seemed to be, even with things that had no right to be living. They sent the odd shambling skeleton back to the land of the dead, spirits and demons lingering and possessing anything remotely human. It wasn't long before the source of the clicking made itself known as spiders the size of great hounds descended on them out of the dark.

By the time they had dived down into the were-wolves lair, they were soaking, bruised and battered. Neria and Leliana looked downright miserable, and even Zevran wasn't having the best of times. Perhaps their leader could have left him out of this one.

Of course Wynne simply shook off the trials with renewed vigor, “bolster your courage. We are nearly there.”

One had to admire a stamina like that.

Zevran pulled forward from the group, intending to watch out for impending danger whilst the women rung out their robes, and Leliana pulled slime from her hair. The howls were louder here, warnings no doubt to run or be eaten. He barely noticed the growl behind his ear until the last moment, when he quickly spun out of the reach of a monster pair of claws.

The werewolves sprung from all directions, dropping from the ceilings like nightmarish creatures of the fade.

“Zevran!” Neria cried from somewhere by him, covered by a swarm of fur and teeth. Wynne and Leliana had disappeared into the fray. Zevran struck blindly, his dagger getting caught in thick muscle and sinew. He was forced to let it go, to stop another from attacking him from behind. A claw caught his arm, nicking the flesh and he couldn't stop the shout that left his throat. Desperate, he knocked one of his bombs from his belt, a great cloud of smoke bursting from its vessel.

In the distraction of smoke, blood and shouting, he felt when the faint glow of magic swept over his arm. The spell burned, but he could smell the skin cauterizing, fusing together anew. He couldn't even see Neria, but he could feel her touch, feel her reaching out to him with her magic, focusing on him despite the nightmare around them...so when she screamed, his heart dropped.

“Neria!” he shouted, pushing his way through the writhing mass, cutting and slashing as he went.

He saw her, his warden, knocked to the floor with the werewolf's jaws at her throat. Her leg kicked, her hands beating uselessly at the creature, blood spilling to the floor. And yet he couldn't reach her, couldn't get to her fast enough to stop it.

Three arrows shot through the air, embedding deep into the beast's back. The wolf howled, lifting its head, only for another arrow to go right through the back of its skull.

Zevran knocked his attacker to the side, his only thought of reaching Neria. Muscles straining, he lifted the carcass of the wolf from where it was crushing her. She spluttered as the weight from her lungs was removed, blood staining her lips.

For a moment Zevran froze over her. Streams of blood poured from where her neck met her shoulder, the skin torn in great jagged holes. She shook beneath him, convulsing as he forced himself to move. He ripped the sleeve of her robe, pressing it to the wound, attempting to stem the flow of blood, “ _Wynne_!” he yelled for the mage, panic coursing through his blood as Neria's eyes watched him, wide, fearful, flickering back and forth.

He held one hand to the wound, his other hand cupping her cheek, stroking a little too harshly to be soothing, but he struggled to calm himself. All he knew was that he needed to keep her with him, “I'm here, I'm here, stay with me,” he begged her, his voice wavering as he repeated the words over and over.

It felt too long before Wynne appeared, knocking him to the side as she quickly took over, her hands glowing so fiercely, he didn't believe he'd seen true magic until that moment. The old woman was muttering under her breath, sweat running down her temples, hands pressed to the wound on Neria's neck like she was pouring the full force of the maker back into her body.

“ _Please, please_ ,” Zevran whimpered, his hands running through his hair, unable to do anything else but watch.

Neria's body stilled its erratic movements, her eyes drawing closed, the colour all but gone from her face. Wynne pulled back slowly, her skin grey and blood beginning to drip from her nose. Before Zevran could jump at her, she lifted a hand, “I've put her to sleep. It will help the healing, but the next few hours are precious. We need somewhere to lie low, now.”

“Come,” Leliana pulled at his arm, “we can't help her unless she's safe.”

 

*

 

They holed up in a side room, barricading the entrance as much as they could. Despite her weariness Wynne placed a barrier over the doorway, much as she had done in the tower, reinforcing the rubble they had tried to block it with. They had to hope it was enough.

Leliana had smashed apart a broken wooden chest in the room and lit a fire in the corner, burning some sort of herb within its flames, “to promote healing,” she had said.

As soon as the work was done, Zevran was at Neria's side, her small hand clutched desperately in his own. She seemed almost peaceful now, were it not for the bright red marks on her neck, and the blood still coating her skin and robes.

“The maker is with her, he will bring her back to us,” said Leliana, hand placed delicately on his shoulder.

“ _Don't_.”

“I mean it, Zevran. I know you don't believe, but...I know he will. For all of us.”

After a deep sigh she walked away to talk with Wynne.

He couldn't pull himself away from her. Gently he stroked her dark hair back from her face, brushed her cheeks with the back of his hand, hoping to see colour in them once more. His fingertips caressed her own, but this time she didn't feel him back.

It was his fault. He knew it to be true. Every time they had fought, every time he had been at her side, protecting her flank whilst she protected the others. She was a formidable woman, fierce and unbelievably good-natured despite her talents, but she was not prepared for the horrors they had faced here. This was no fade, no demons that she had been taught to face, to outwit, but real monsters craving flesh. She would have fought it off, he had no doubt, had she not been distracted trying to heal him from across the room. She let her guard down, and he let her down.

He lifted her hand to his lips, resting his cheek against her hand.

He had broken his vow, the only thing he had promised to her.

He couldn't lose her, not like Rinna.

 

 

*

 

He'd fully intended to keep watch by her side all night, allowing Wynne and Leliana a moment of rest, but sleep took him before he could stop himself. He had slumped against the wall, her hand still in his own. The slightest touch awoke him. For a second he wasn't sure what it had been, till he felt her thumb brushing the back of his hand. He opened his eyes to see her own, wide, sleepy eyes staring back at him.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, barely able to move her head for the the tightness of her wounds, and the thick paste of the poultice smoothed over it.

“ _Neria_ ,” he pulled her hand to his chest, relieved to see her awake. It took a moment for her words to sink in, “...you lie here, close to death and you ask of _me_?” he couldn't help the slight anger that he felt build within him. How could she get herself into such danger, leave herself open to attack?

“They hurt you...did I get to you in time?”

He dropped her hand, turning away and backing up against the wall. His head fell back against the cold stone, his hands covering his face.

“Yes, cariña.”

“ _cari_ _ña?”_

“and it was a foolish thing to do! Do you think if you had died, your friends would have let me live? Do you think the idiot Alistair would be able to end this blight? Well now you'll have the scars to remind you that your life is too precious to waste!” he spoke under his breath, but his words were alight with fury. His eyes stung. The smoke in the small room was too much.

“Zevran? _Zevran look at me_!” she hissed at him reaching for his arm and yelping as she moved, “I made a mistake, but I'm _fine_. I'm okay,”

He couldn't look at her, but he gave in and released his arm to her. Her fingertips grazed up and down the bare skin of his forearm. He could feel her eyes on him, pleading.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“I know,” _I'm sorry too,_ he thought.

Giving in, he turned back to her, pressing his other hand to her forehead, “you're warm.”

“it's boiling in here,” she shifted uncomfortably, “where are we, anyway?”

“We've barricaded ourselves in one of the side passages. I couldn't get you out of here, not without causing further damage.”

She breathed out slowly, eyes still looking up into his, searching. Sweat coated her forehead, her face and neck still covered in blood and dirt.

“ _Neria! Thank the maker,”_

Zevran jumped. Wynne stood over them, weary but more rested than before. She knelt beside her, hands glowing once more with some form of rejuvenation magic, lifting the pain from Neria's bones.

“Thank-you Wynne,” said Neria, smiling weakly up at her would-be mother.

“You are a hard one to keep alive, but you are a fighter,” she smoothed her hair, “rest now. You too Zevran, I can take this next watch. I will keep her with us...you have my word.”

He didn't want to leave her side, but he gave in to Wynne's matronly look. He gave Neria's hand a final squeeze.

 

*

 

The wolves were waiting for them, when they finally pulled away the barricade, Neria leaning heavily on Zevran, but on her feet. Wynne held the barrier in place, but the beasts made no move to attack.

“The Lady wishes to parley,” one of them spoke.

“ _Now_? _Now_ she wishes to parley?” Zevran growled back at them.

“You are in no position to fight. Either come with us, or we will finish what we started.”

Zevran's grip on Neria's waist tightened.

“I would be happy to speak to your Lady, if she will grant us an audience,” said Neria, her voice still strong despite her weakened state.

The wolves had gathered in the main circular room, around a woman twisted in vines as if she herself had grown up through the stones. Neria managed to stay on her feet, as the self named 'lady of the forest' told her side of the matters.

As good as ever, Neria somehow negotiated some form of peace between Zathrian and the wolves. As soon as the keeper had seen the damage the wolves had done, he had tried to force the issue, forced them to strike down the lady, but Neria had plain refused. Zevran had nearly spoken out, anger at the wolves blinding him to the tenderness of the situation, but she had merely looked at him and he had fallen silent. As always, she felt sympathy for both sides of the story, and had talked kindly to Zathrian until he too had felt a great sadness at her words. The curse was lifted, Zathrian and the Lady both its final victims.

It wasn't until they had begun to climb out of the ruins, that Neria faltered next to him. Without a thought he lifted her up into his arms, carrying her close to his chest.

He would tell her, he had decided. She needed to know why he was incapable of protecting her, why he couldn't be what she wanted him to be. He watched her sleeping as they trudged back through the forest to their camp, his heart fluttering in his chest. He ached with the feeling, he ached being close to her, and yet he couldn't pull himself away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always hated when the werewolves would knock your character to the ground! More actually romantic stuff on the way...


	4. Loyalty and Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Brother Genitivi begins in Denerim, and Zevran grapples with his choice to stay close to the Warden, whilst Neria decides that getting closer is exactly what they both need.

 

The camp remained on the edges of the forest for far longer than they had planned, all to try and ensure that Neria had returned to full health before they marched on to Denerim. As much as she appreciated the gesture, staying still for so long was making her nervous. They knew the darkspawn were making their move from the south, and she still felt they were too close to Lothering after what they had seen there. Knowing that the werewolves of Brecilian forest had been cured and that they had another ally in the Dalish was a comfort, but she still felt uneasy after all that they had faced.

Her wounds had healed, thanks to a combination of Wynne's magic and a little of her own, but they both felt drained from the effort. Her body still ached, and it was difficult to lift her arm. Neither could she get rid of the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, or the fear she had felt at being so helpless even as she came so close to death.

She kept a smile on her face as she wandered around the camp, assisting with any light handed work or talking with her companions, or in Alistair's case putting his fears to rest (she knew he felt guilty for not being there when it had happened. As heartfelt as it was, she couldn't help but wish he would leave the matter alone. Dwelling on it only made it feel worse).

Zevran had pulled his tent closer to the main camp. He had said nothing, but she felt grateful to know he was closer by. What had happened in the ruins seemed to have shook him too, and whilst he kept a close eye on her, he hadn't spoken much to her, short of asking of her well-being. He had been so angry with her, but the panic she had seen in his eyes, was what stayed with her. She needed to speak with him, to thank him properly. For the first time she'd seen him without a guard up. She could only wish the circumstances had been different.

It was one night, a few days after they returned to camp that Neria crept out of her tent. Sten stood as lone sentry. The giant glanced her way and said nothing. He didn't give a damn what she did. At least she knew there would be no gossip come morning.

She passed the cooling fire, crouching low as she came to Zevran's tent. Neria paused. It was hard to knock on canvas, but she didn't want to just invite herself in. For all she knew, he would turn her away. After all it wasn't that long ago that she had refused the invite herself.

“ _Zevran?_ ” she whispered. Nothing. No sound came from within the tent...perhaps he'd already gone for a walk? What if he'd left?

A hand reached out suddenly through the opening and tugged her by her uninjured arm. With a squeak, she toppled into the tent into his arms, landing on a plush array of blankets and cloths. Apparently Zevran missed the comforts accustomed to the Crows.

“If you were trying to assassinate me, I must let you know, it's usually best not to introduce one's self.”

“Oh, damn. I knew I was doing something wrong,”

He laughed, lying back down on his makeshift bed, propped up by his elbows. There was very little space between them, and what space there was smelt strongly of him– leather, spices and honey. It was as if he carried Antiva with him. Although if he was to be believed, the overpowering smell of fish was quite common in the city; that was one she was quite happy to do with out.

“To what do I deserve the pleasure of your company?” he said, noticing her distraction at their surroundings.

“Well you helped save my life, so that's a start.”

His head thumped down against the blankets, “no, cariña, that was Wynne. I did have a go at you, though, so you can begin with that.”

“Or we could not? I told you, I'm fine,” she slowly lowered herself down next to him. Zevran watched her with careful eyes, “it was nice to know you cared though.”

“Ah yes, nothing more heartwarming,” he said sarcastically.

“I always thought of shouting as more of a show of passion, than true anger. Even if you do it under your breath, in a cave...whilst someone is possibly dying...”

Zevran's face was hard, even as she started giggling.

“Oh, come now!” she laughed, “that was almost funny.”

“Sí. Hilarious.”

Neria propped herself up on her side, so she could see him properly. He managed to avoid her eyes for a good few seconds, before he gave in and met her gaze. The gorgeous golden brown smoldered even in low light.

“Truly, Zevran. I'm sorry. But, I'm also _really_ not. I will always try and protect all of you. How could I not? You are risking your lives just by following me. I lived in a tower for near on fifteen years and now you trust me to lead you all around the country chasing allies for a war against some kind of demon dragon? You're all mad, but I'll try to keep you alive if I can help it. And...believe it or not, but you're the closest thing I've ever had to a friend. Well there was Jowan...but he turned out to be a blood mage using me to escape...so perhaps I'm not the best judge of character.”

A little hint of mischief returned to Zevran's eyes, “'friend', is it? Need I remind you, that I also tried to take your life?”

“Well, you also helped save it. Although perhaps 'friend' isn't the best word when you've been trying to get me into bed since day one,” she tried to keep her tone light-hearted, unsure even as she said it

“Friends and sex aren't always mutually exclusive, dear warden. Especially, if you are creative.”

Neria let out a breath, giving him a smile. A little reward for him perking up a little, even if his words made that nervous flutter awaken in her chest again. Her cheeks flushed, even though she had brought it up. Joking was one thing, but she couldn't help but worry that is all he saw between them. Looking down at the ground, she fiddled with the blankets between them, “I really do care for you, you know. You don't have to always joke and flirt around me.”

The assassin sighed, sitting up “I appreciate the sentiment, warden...I do,” his face hardened over, “ but you need not try and appease me to keep me here. I made you a promise to stay and aid you, and I will, even if I have already failed at protecting you.”

Her hand stilled. She looked up at him, “..you think I say these things just to keep you around? You truly think I would say anything I do not feel?”

“You have a kind heart. All I mean to say, is that it is not necessary.”

“ _Zev,_ ” she breathed his name. Neria sat up, if anything to calm the torment churning within her. It was as if their conversations up until the point had taken on another light, “I say I care for you, because I do, and because not saying it feels like a betrayal to whatever friendship we have built. And...I kissed you when I did, because you made me feel safe. You listened to me, and you made me feel less scared. Can it not be that simple? That I just happen to like you? Not to keep you on my side, but because you make the world seem less scary, and perhaps a little bit kinder?”

As she spoke, there grew a sadness in his eyes which she had seldom seen, almost pity - for her or for him she did not know. With all her heart, she wished to reach out and touch him, but something about his expression kept her from trying.

“Neria,” her name sounded so different on his tongue. He rarely used it, “ You need to...understand. I am not the man you seem to think I am. I can play many a role, but its just another part of the act. I listen because it makes you trust me, I flirt because you may let down your guard and I might even get you into bed for a few hours. That's all it is.”

“…That’s…” she stopped, biting down on her lip. Her eyes stung, she blinked away any traitorous tears. It was never a great feat to bring her to tears, but it was another thing to make her doubt herself. She had done so once, and it had been Zevran who had calmed her. She clamped down on the feeling, listening for once to her brain rather than her heart. He was wrong, “I don’t believe you,” she said, “and if you’re honest I don’t think you do either.”

She leant forward and quickly pressed her lips to his cheek before he could turn back to look at her.

“And even if it was true? Well, I think I can’t help but like you anyway. Good night, Zev.”

Warmed by her choice she left his tent, not even looking back to see him brush the cheek where her lips had touched.

 

*

 

“Can I ask you something, Zevran?” Alistair asked as they trudged along the road leading to Denerim.

“I don't know, can you?” said the assassin. Zevran wasn't feeling particularly talkative and had been walking along in silence. They had fallen slightly behind the main group. Alistair was carrying more than his share of the bags after he had offered to carry Neria's for her. Despite her protests, the Templar had insisted, what with her shoulder still healing, and being a massive ass-kissing douche.

Okay, perhaps Zevran was pissed, and a little bit _pissed_ after the whisky he'd been drinking into the early hours. The hangover was kicking him, and marching in bright sunlight with a bubbly moron was getting to be a bit much.

“Uh, right? Have you had many women in your time? I mean...you seem like the kind of man who would...”

“I have indulged from time to time.”

“You seem to have a certain...way with them.”

“I have a way with everyone. What is your point?” Zevran eyed the boy, deciding on a whim to push him a little, “Oh, Alistair if you're trying to flirt with me, you need only ask. I promise, I'll be gentle.”

“ _What?_ ” Alistair went bright red, as if the sunburn wasn't already doing its job, “no, no. I just wanted advice, that's all.”

“Well...now I'm hurt. Let's not talk at all, shall we?”

The Templar was quiet for a full minute before he forced a laugh, “oh, hardy-har-har you're just messing with me aren't you? Look, I just wanted to know...how do you...woo them? Is there a technique...or...?”

“ _Woo_ them? Are you quite serious?”

“Er...yes? I don't know what else to call it?”

Zevran was tempted to laugh at him, but couldn't build up the energy to make a real show of it. His feet were dragging beneath him. If he hadn't been tortured so efficiently by the crows, his body may just have given up, never mind this mindless chat. _Braska._

He was taking a long pull from his water pouch, when he noticed exactly why Alistair had been asking. He blamed the alcohol in his blood for the conclusion taking so long. The Templar's eyes were firmly on Neria, where she walked ahead, her shoulder rolling in discomfort. Alistair readjusted her bag on his back, holding onto the strap tightly as if it was the most precious thing in the world.

Zevran suddenly felt much more awake.

“So, who are you trying to woo exactly? Leliana? She is a very beautiful girl,” he said casually.

“Oh, yes, she is, but I was thinking more of...”

“Morrigan? Ah yes, the whole 'do I hate her, or want to fuck her' thing? Makes for very creative sex, especially when whips are involved.”

“ _No!_ ” Alistair shouted, scared that the witch would over-hear. He lowered his voice, “not her. Definitely not her.”

Zevran's eyebrow's raised, “Wynne? Really? Not that I blame you. A woman with that much experience has got to know a thing or two...”

“Neria! It's Neria, alright!” Alistair hissed, embarrassed to have said it out loud.

Zevran had known what the answer would be, but to hear it spoken made its poison twice as worse. He licked his lips trying to ignore the sharp sting of jealousy that poked at his heart. Internally, he shook the feelings off. It wasn't jealousy, he just knew that Alistair too much of a prat to make her happy...and he had made a vow to protect her. That's all it was.

“And...you wish to woo her?” he said carefully.

“I...I just want to show her how I feel. Should I just tell her?”

“Hm,” Zevran considered, “No, no I feel that would only act to push her away. You must remember Alistair, she grew up in a tower. Anything too forward will scare her. No I would...play hard to get.”

“Hard to get?”

“Ignore her, act as if you're not interested at all. Think, you had done nothing at all when she kissed you during lies and dares. Now you're simply trying too hard.”

Alistair nodded slowly, “I guess that makes sense.”

“It really does, doesn't it. And tell you what, because you and I have become such good friends, I can talk to her, big you up, as it were.”

“You'd do that for me?”

Zevran gave one of his most notorious smiles, “but of course. What are friends for?”

 

*

 

The sprawling streets of Denerim were packed with refugees, travelling street vendors along with their permanent neighbours, and hundreds of citizens going about their day to day lives. Neria had never seen so many people in her life. Even at Ostagar, the sheer size of the army had been nothing compared to this living, breathing city.

Excitement nearly took over her as she threaded her way through the people, stopping at every stall and being caught by the vendors tempting her with goods she didn't even need. There were people from all over Thedas, including an Orlesian woman so beautiful, Neria couldn't help the blush that crept into her cheeks as she spoke to her. After a while she was pulled away by one of her companions, but which one she couldn't remember.

She talked to the children playing in the street and petted stray dogs, some of which started following them around despite Arthur's jealous growls. She laughed with joy at the fire-eaters performing in the square and waved at the passing soldiers.

“Um, how about we don't wave at the soldiers?” said Alistair pulling her aside, “we're wanted for treason, remember?”

“Oh, come on Alistair! It's not like we have 'Grey Warden' tattooed on our foreheads.”

“Although that could be arranged...” said Zevran appearing beside them, “should I get my needles?”

Neria smiled at him, and Zevran faltered. Pretending to see something of interest he walked away.

She turned back to Alistair, “I'm going to ask one of the guards where we can find Brother Genitivi.”

“Don't!”

Neria threw him her best 'I know what I'm doing' look, and marched up to the nearest soldier who was standing at the corner of the main square, scratching his nose and clearly only thinking about what he was going to have for dinner that night.

“Afternoon!” she greeted him.

The soldier jolted, standing to attention, his hands flying down to his sides, “Good afternoon, Ma'am. Do you have something you wish to report? If not, I must ask you to move along,”

“It's more of a question really, if you'd be so kind?” she smiled her sweetest smile up at him. It always used to work on the senior enchanters when she'd wanted access to the storerooms, or when she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't.

“Well...I...” his eyes caught sight of the staff on her back and his eyes began to narrow, “ma'am, is that...”

“My grandmother's staff?” she said quickly, “yes, if I didn't keep an eye on it, she'd leave it behind every-time she sat down,” she pointed over to where Wynne was sat outside of the tavern, sipping at a drink and gave a small wave. Confused, Wynne waved back.

“Right. Well, I'm afraid I don't know how much help I'll be...”

“I'm looking for a Brother Genitivi?”

Recognition lit his expression, “Oh, that crackpot!”

“Crackpot?” Neria repeated weakly.

“Always ranting about some old urn with magical powers?”

“...that would be the one.”

“He lives just around the corner. Although if I were you, I wouldn't bother.”

Great. Just great.

 

*

 

So Weylon was dead, and some creep was pretending to be him, until Zevran mentioned the blood on the back door and the imposter decided he'd rather take on a group of armed strangers instead. Why did they always end up with blood on their hands? Neria's good mood from earlier had died along with him.

“Let's just find somewhere to stay for the night.”

It was a good idea, although it quickly turned out that finding somewhere for the night wouldn't be as easy as they had thought. With the city packed full of refugees, and the gates closed to protect the city for the night, the few taverns they visited were packed to the brim, with even the bar-room fully seated. She was half considering just setting up in a back alley when Zevran proposed a new idea.

“What about The Pearl?”

“You mean the brothel?” Alistair half laughed, until he saw the serious look on Zevran's face, “we are _not_ staying in the brothel.”

“And now you suddenly choose to lead?” Zevran took a breath and looked to Neria, “there is a good chanced The Pearl will have a room to spare for the right amount of gold. Even one bed is better than no beds at all, yes?”

Neria felt a jitter in her stomach. Whether it was nervousness or curiosity she didn't know. Staying for the night in a brothel was so far from anything she had every experienced,

“Would we have to have one of the girls stay with us?” she asked.

Zevran laughed. As much as she was glad to see him laugh, she felt a rush of blood to her face, embarrassed.

“No, warden. Unless, of course, you'd like me to ask for you?”

She slapped his arm, scowling.

“Where is it?”

 

*

 

The Pearl was far nicer than she had expected. The air was sweet with perfumes, and the floors were far cleaner than the stickiness of the taverns. Upon presenting a bag of gold, the Madame gladly showed them a room, offering extra 'delights' should they only request them. Alistair had stared solidly at the floor as they walked through, almost in pain trying to ignore the girls,with ample bosoms, blowing kisses in his direction.

“I think the girls find you interesting, Alistair,” came Zevran's sly voice.

“I'm fine,” said Alistair weakly.

They were given a large room complete with a king-sized bed, chaise-longue and fur rug on the floor.

“Do you think it's clean?” said Alistair.

“It wouldn't be good for the girls if it wasn't. I think this should do just fine,” Wynne flopped onto the bed, relief clear in her face.

“My, my,” said Zevran, “do you have some saucy past, Wynne? If so we are all ears.”

Wynne's eyelid's fluttered open slightly, “depends on your definition.”

Before long they had all settled down, the weariness of their travels drawing them to sleep. Wynne and Neria shared the bed with Arthur asleep at their feet. Alistair claimed the chaise-longue whilst Zevran sat up against the door, insisting that someone still keep watch. After all, it was the customers, not the girls, that couldn't be trusted.

It was only when Neria woke up early in the morning, Alistair's snores bouncing off the walls, that she noticed that Zevran had already left. For a moment she feared he had gone to spend the night with one of the men or women the brothel had to offer, but she quickly tried to squash the feeling. He had made no promises to her, in fact he had practically refused her.

Still, she got to her feet and ventured out into the brothel. Not surprisingly, the morning seemed to be a rather quiet time for The Pearl. The girls greeted her sleepily as they met in the hallway, carrying fruit and bowls of porridge for their morning supper.

She found Zevran in the central room, sitting across a table from a woman. Thankfully, they were both dressed.

The woman had beautifully rich, dark skin, adorned with golden jewellery and framed with thick black hair. Her eyelids were painted with golden eyeshadow that complimented the amber eyes beneath. She glanced up as she walked over, a flirtatious smile on her face,

“Oh, you do know how to pick them, Zevran,” she said approvingly, looking Neria up and down, “hello, kitten,”

As nervous as she made her feel, she couldn't help but be endeared by the woman, “hello,” she said shyly taking her hand.

“Now, now, Isabela. This one is off limits.” Zevran said, moving along the bench to allow Neria to sit.

“You two know each-other?” Neria asked.

“Intimately,” said Isabela.

Zevran sighed, “I killed her husband.”

“Rather spectacularly. I still remember how we celebrated that night,”

Neria blushed. At this rate, she felt her face should simply be painted permenantly red. She pulled her cloak closer together around herself, hiding her bed-clothes beneath.

“Isabela was telling me what she was doing back here in Denerim,” Zevran quickly turned the topic.

“You're not from here?”

“No, sweet thing. Rivain puts Ferelden to shame. Unfortunately, I find myself stranded and in need of a ship. Luckily, Zevran has agreed to help me acquire one.”

The assassin tutted, “we must be having different conversations Isabela.”

“Can't blame a girl for trying. Although...perhaps your pretty friend would be willing to help me?”

“She's no thief,” there was a sudden tone to Zevran's voice that Neria had rarely heard. Even when Isabela had been flirting his reprimands had been light-hearted, but now his voice was stern.

“How about letting her speak for herself?”

Neria glanced between the two of them, “you...want me to help you steal a boat?”

“A ship, a galleon. Whichever you take a fancy too. I may even name it after you.”

“ _Isabela_ ,” came that warning again.

The woman had a gorgeous laugh, and her eyes sparkled with mischief, “very well. I don't need your help anyway,” she took a final swig of the drink in front of her (nevermind the fact that dawn had only just broken) and got to her feet. She leaned over the table to Neria, “but you're always welcome, kitten.

She blew them both a kiss and left.

Neria blinked, “what just happened?”

Zevran took a sip of his own drink, “you just escaped. That is more than most of her victims can say.”

“And you were...a victim were you?” Neria asked, not even sure if she wanted to poke that subject.

He held her gaze, in all seriousness, “I'm nobody's victim. Let us go.”

 

 

*

 

They left the brothel to bright sunlight. The summer was being particularly kind to Ferelden this year, although there was still a chill in the air. They headed back into the streets of Denerim, heading for the main gates. There was more they had to do before confronting Loghain, and at least now they had a trail to follow for the sacred urn.

They turned into a quiet back alley, talking among themselves when a heavily-armed man blocked their path. Before Neria could question what was happening, Zevran grabbed her arm, pulling her behind him.

The man looked down at them, balancing a knife on the tip of his finger, “...and so here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last. The crows send their greetings once again,” the man spoke with self-importance, and an arrogant expression to match. He tilted his head, looking at Zevran, “ _and_ you've kept the traitor as a pet!”

Zevran's grip on her arm tightened, “so they sent you Taliesen? Or did you volunteer for the job?”

“I volunteered, of course. When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself.”

“Is that so? Well here I am, in the flesh.”

Taliesen gave a smile she was sure was meant to be kind, but on him it simply looked wrong, “you can return with me Zevran. I know why you did this, and I don't blame you. It's not too late. Come back and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake.”

Neria felt a lump in her throat - a momentary doubt that she hated herself for feeling. But how could she not? It was only the feeling of his hand on her arm, and his strong, unyielding, body placed steadfast in front of her that kept her grounded in the moment. He was with her, and for everything she was unsure of, she could no longer doubt his loyalty.

“I'm not going back, Taliesen,” he said calmly.

“A shame, really, although I cannot say that I am not somewhat pleased it will end this way. I will gladly bring your head back to the crows.”

Neria forced her way forward, breaking Zevran grip on her arm so she could stand in front of him instead, “you will have to kill me first.”

Taliesen laughed, “did that not go without saying? I will finish the mission, even if the traitor could not,” with barely any signal, figures rose out of the shadows striking the group on all sides. Neria just had time to create a barrier before Taliesen's knife came down upon it, getting caught barely inches from her face. She shouted in shock, only for Taliesen to be launched backwards by a fierce tackle that was quite unlike any move she'd ever seen Zevran perform. The two grappled on the floor, knives at each-other's throats.

She moved to assist him only to hear Alistair yelp behind her. The assassins were drawn to his heavy armour, trying to take him down first. Apparently four were trying all at the same time. Swirling her staff over her head, teeth clenching against the strain in her shoulder, she brought a chain of lightning down upon them, artfully directing it around Alistair and hitting all four assailants. Arthur jumped on them as they lay twitching on the floor.

“ _Braska!”_

Neria turned again. Zevran was slammed up against a wall, a hand upon his throat. Taliesen was bleeding heavily from a wound in his abdomen, and a gash was weeping openly above his eyebrow, but it only seemed to be spurring the man on.

Breathing in deeply, she drew on her magic once more, casting a sign which hit Taliesen with the full force of a brick in the face, stunning him instantly. Zevran took advantage without pause, knocking the hands from his throat. He grabbed Taliesen's head and with a sharp twist, broke the man's neck.

Neria watched with morbid fascination at the pure lethality of the man she desired. He brushed his hair back from his face, expressionless despite being choked only moments before.

He nodded in thanks, before entering back into the fray helping the other's take down the other assassins. Barely a minute later, and the back-alley was littered with corpses.

Zevran walked up to her, tying his hair back, “are you okay?” he asked her, gripping her shoulder lightly.

“ _Okay?_ ” she breathed. Pulling in close to him, she touched the red skin of his neck, “no-one touched me.”

“Um, did anyone see me fighting off several men at once? No, just me?” said Alistair where he panted on the floor behind them. They both ignored him.

Zevran pulled away from her, looking back at Taliesen's lifeless body, “I have fulfilled my vow. The crows won't even know I defected without Taliesen to tell them. I could simply...leave.”

Her face dropped, unable to hide her feelings at his words. She felt almost nauseated, “You could,” she said weakly.

“...but, I could also stay. Fighting the blight is a far more worthy cause than most, and I doubt you will get far without me...” his head was tilted away from her, cast in shadow, but his eyes still burned as they met hers, “that is...if you still want me?” Without speaking she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his chest. Hesitantly, his hands rested on her back, and she could almost be sure he touched his lips to her hair.

“Should I take that as a yes?” he said, the cockiness creeping back into his voice.

“Yes,” she smiled, only holding him tighter.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. So I may have called Alistair a few 'mean' names in this chapter. Just to point out that I love, love, love Alistair, and that the name calling is coming from Zevran, not me - simply to fit this story.  
> 2\. I've moved events around slightly also for the purposes of story.  
> 3\. For those who love a slow burn but want something a bit more juicy, I'm hoping things will get a bit more...intimate in the next few chapters.


	5. When the truth comes out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth of why Zevran came to Ferelden comes out...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to get all these pent up emotions and secrets out of the way with!

They were camped somewhere in the Bannorn, one of their many stops as they made their way back across the country once again. If they'd only known how close this village of Haven was to Redcliffe they could have saved themselves the trip. Neria however, was optimistic as usual. Approaching the Frostback Mountains would also bring them close to the entrance of Orzammar. There was a good chance that the quest for the urn would prove fruitless, but they would need the help of the dwarves in the battle against the blight regardless.

As had become usual routine, the group were gathered around the campfire, supping on the stew Wynne had concocted after a successful hunting trip. Wild rabbits were rampant in the Bannorn, and whilst there was little meat on their bones, it was far better than no meat at all.

Neria was warmed by the good food, and the heat of the campfire. It was moments like those that she truly appreciated her part in the quest they had been given. Back in the tower, she could never have imagined a life like this. For every bit of horror they faced, she found yet more beauty and kindness in the world.

And speaking of beauty and kindness, she felt a nervous, yet wonderful flutter in her stomach as Zevran appeared at her side. He was dressed lightly, with it being by far one of the warmest nights they'd had since they began their journey. He wore an unfastened slate grey vest over his bare chest, his usual under-shirt folded neatly outside his tent. The high collar had sharp lines that complimented the cut of his jaw, and his hair was tied high in a messy knot out of it's way.

Trying to be discreet, she observed the black lines, tattoos he called them, following the defined muscle of his arms and under the curve of his pectoral muscles. They dipped down following each rib like a curved blade, disappearing beneath the trousers riding low on his hips.

She pressed her lips tightly together, desperate to stop a shy squeak of embarrassment at the tightness of his trousers - it was no wonder that he normally wore that leather kilt thing. She'd never understood how men could run with those 'things' between their legs anyway. The thought left her light-headed and more than a little distracted. The women in the brothel had been one thing, but she had never seen a man so well designed to be pleasing to the eye. The tattoos were more than suggestive and...

Neria pulled her eyes away, burrowing deeper down into her cloak to hide her inflamed cheeks. She felt such the awkward virgin around him, and now that he was actually flirting back again it was twice as bad. There was some part of him, she thought, that enjoyed teasing her, even if he was still keep himself at a careful distance.

She jumped as fingers clicked loudly in front of her eyes.

“Warden? Are you still with me?” Zevran was crouched in front of her, his warm eyes focused and the laughter lines around his eyes wrinkled with amusement.

“Where are all your clothes?” she blathered.

“I intend to enjoy any natural warmth I can find, even in this barren country.”

“...but your armour?”

“I don't need armour to protect myself,” his eyes glanced at the still heavily plated Alistair, “unlike some.”

Neria followed his gaze, and saw Alistair watching them with tense eyes. Zevran was very, very close.

“Would you walk with me?” the assassin asked, drawing her attention back to him. Still dazed, she took the proffered hand. He led them away into the trees.

They strolled together and as much as she tried to relax in his company, the nervous jitters simply would not leave her be - why they only seemed to get worse the longer she knew him, she could not fathom. The only problem was, that now, it felt different. There was more between them now and she felt something in herself that she'd never experienced before. Her heart jittering, the sweaty palms, the heat that curled in her belly everytime he spoke in her ear.

She swallowed her nervousness down, "I'm surprised you'd want to take a walk after marching all day."

"Ah, but this is quite different, no? No weight to carry, only your company and no destination in mind," he said his thumb brushing over her hand. His pace slowed, a thoughtful look in his eyes, "there was something I...I need to talk to you about. I'd rather the others weren't with us."

"Oh?"

He licked his lips, "...shall we sit?" he let go of her hand and sat uncerimoniously on the ground. Surprised, she followed his lead and sat down with her back against a tree, tucking her robes beneath her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked quietly. When he'd pulled her in to the woods she'd suspected another reason for privacy, not simply the need to talk.

"You met Taliesen."

"Briefly," she smirked.

He gave her a quick smile, but it didn't feel sincere as his face quickly grew serious once more, "I knew him, for a long time. We used to be partners on several missions. Back then...I was a different person."

"Whatever you've done, it doesn't matter. I've already told you, Zev. You've got a good heart-"

"Don't..." he said, warning her to stay quiet "...please. There is much you don't know about me - the things I have done to get here. You deserve to know, but...I...you might not look at me the same way afterwards. If you want me to leave, I'll go."

Neria wanted to tell him that there was nothing he could say, she was already too invested, but after all the horrors she had seen on their journeys she knew she couldn't guarantee him anything, no matter how much she thought she liked him.

She nodded, holding her knees up against her chest.

"You already know that I never knew my mother. She died in the brothel I grew up in, and whilst I was fairly treated, I was sold to the crows as soon as I was old enough. But I learnt a fair amount whilst I lived with them, I helped where I could and I saw much of what they did. I grew up believing that love was simply an illusion, a thing to be bought and sold for a price. The women felt nothing for the men they slept with, and whilst the men sometimes grew infatuated, it was simply a byproduct of sex.

"Then when I joined the crows, it was...taught. Just another weapon to be used against targets. It was one of the reasons I was bought. Elves are considered quite the popuar fetish wherever you go, and I learnt I was very, very good at it. The seduction, the twisting of words...and I was very good at staying disconnected from the target. I enjoyed the motions, relished in the pleasure of it, for it was great to feel anything at all, but thats all it was. Of course, it would change depending on the situation, not all targets needed sleeping with to get them to lower their guard, it just so happened to be my favourite...method. Regardless, it would always end with someone dead, and I was simply happy for it not to be me.

"I do believe I enjoyed my life...but...it was empty. I was empty, and at the time I didn't care...until I met Rinna."

Neria listened, a lump in her throat. To hear him talk in such a way made her feel numb. She wished to reach out and touch him, but knew that she shouldn't. After he fell silent for a time, staring hard at the ground, she spoke, "“Who was Rinna?”

“Rinna...ah, Rinna was something else. She was an assassin for the crows, much like myself, but she had an artistry to the kill that I couldn't even hope to copy. I quickly became infatuated with her, just like the men at the brothel. I believe I thought I was in love, or at least from what I'd heard of it. But just like everything else, it was empty, an obsession. She played with me and I let her, whether she felt anything...I don't know. So...when Taliesen told me that she had betrayed us, I hunted her down and killed her myself,” Zevran turned his head away, his eyes red, “It was rash, foolish. I only did what I thought was my duty. I killed her...only to learn that the information was wrong. She had betrayed no-one and yet I had cut her down in cold blood. Rinna had looked in me in the eye and told me she hadn't betrayed us. She told me that she loved me, and I laughed, convinced I'd been saved from whatever feelings she'd been stirring in me, whatever trap it was she'd been luring me into. When I found out the truth...I told Taliesen I wanted to come clean, but he convinced me it was a mistake, and I was all too willing to go along with the lie.

“We needn't have bothered. The Crows knew. They always know...and they simply didn't care and one day, my turn would come.”

“Zevran,” she whispered, unable to stop herself.

He sighed, his face relaxing, as if some weight had been lifted, “it is, what it is. I regret it, this is true, but I can't help but admit that it was all true to my nature – the betrayal, the lies. Rinna was the only woman I'd come close to loving and I betrayed her like it was nothing.”

Neria had listened to all he'd had to say, and her heart weighed heavy in her chest. Tears stung in her eyes, although not for the reasons that she would have thought, “...not nothing,” she said, “if it was nothing you wouldn't have felt regret, you wouldn't have tried to turn yourself in.”

“I regretted my actions, my recklessness. The truth was, I wasn't a very good crow, and they made a point of making me know that she was nothing...that I was nothing.”

“But you knew the truth. You knew she hadn't betrayed you. Did you not miss her? Not at all?”

Zevran swallowed, “perhaps. I stole her armour. Kept it with me when I came to Ferelden. It felt like somehow I was keeping her alive. I think, the problem with living your life, empty of all feeling...the anger, the mourning was worse than any torture I'd ever felt. There is a reason I accepted this mission in Ferelden, far away from home, and it had nothing to do with any thought that I might leave the crows. Meeting you, after all, was quite the accident.”

“I'd hardly call Loghain being a world-class prick an accident.”

Zevran gasped, “my, my, dear Warden! Such language?”

She gave him a pointed look, determined to keep the conversation serious even as he chuckled. He lay down in the grass, looking up with a weary smile at the canopy of branches above their heads. It was growing dark, but she couldn't pull them back to camp, not when he was finally opening up to her.

After a while he spoke again, his voice quiet as if not to disturb the world slowly falling asleep around them, “you asked me once why I wanted to leave the crows, in truth, what I wanted was to die. What better way than to throw myself at one of the fabled Grey-Wardens?” he brushed a finger against her toes, which she couldn't help but pull back, ticklish as she was. His hand paused and for a moment she feared he'd thought it a reproach. In reality it was the shock of his words.

“You...you wanted to die?” she repeated. Neria felt sick, thoughts of their first encounter replaying in her head. The ambush, the way he'd surrendered at her feet. Even since she'd known him, he'd been careless in their fights, throwing himself into danger even if it was under the ploy of protecting her. Now she couldn't stop the tears as she launched suddenly onto her feet. There was a madness in her at his words. Everything, everything making sense, and at the same time making no sense at all. She was angry at him, and angry at herself for feeling such a way.  
It made it worse that he simply lay there and let her vent silently. She stopped in her pacing, her hands covering her face to hide the mess of tear streaks, sniffing loudly in an attempt to control herself, “…you wanted me to kill you,” she forced out the words.

“You, Alistair, anyone really. It seemed like a simple solution.” 

She scoffed through the tears, “simple? Deciding that life isn’t worth living isn’t simple. Life is awful, and ugly and hard as hell, but it’s all we know. To give it up? I know you’ve told me all this to try and convince me that you’re a bad person but, I have seen some really awful things that I wish I could forget, things that keep me up at night wishing I’d stayed in that tower, even if it meant I was nothing. I don’t care what things you had to do to get here. If that makes me as bad as them, I don’t know, but you make me feel safe, and to me that makes you the only good thing I’ve got. I can’t forgive you…only you can decide to forgive yourself, but I will be damned if I leave you to find it on your own!” her voice got more and more erratic as she spoke, her whole body trembling. 

She gave a great, ugly sob when his hands pressed against her waist.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, squeezing her. She hadn’t heard him get up and she froze at his touch, “I did not mean to spring this all on you at once. But I needed you to know who I am…whatever that means. Does it help youto know, that whatever I’d wished upon coming here, I do so no longer? I have been a coward, hiding within in your shadow, trying to convince myself how little I care. But how could I not after meeting you? You, so good of heart, even to the point it… it pains me to know what you must think of me. If I must seek forgiveness or be damned, I shall accept it all if it means being the ‘good man’ you seem to think I am. All I wish is to be worthy of you.”

She flipped in his arms, nestling into his bare chest, hands clutching desperately at his vest, “stop!” she cried against him. How could he not see how insignificant she was in all this? How little he had to prove to her? She had lived so little, seen so little of life compared to him. She looked up at him, blinking through the tears, “I’m no-one, Zevran. I can’t decide your worth. Only you can do that.” 

His head bowed, kissing her hair, her neck, and as she lifted her face he pressed his lips to her cheeks, to her forehead – every inch of skin he could reach, touching every tear. 

“How don’t you know,” he said between kisses, “you’ve already saved me?” 

She sought his lips, tasting her salty tears upon them. She kissed them, once, twice, stealing his breath, only to lock herself against him, refusing to let go, lips melding together, stealing a touch of his tongue. With the sheer force of the kiss, the couple overbalanced. Zevran fell backwards, releasing one hand to stop the fall, his other tugging her tighter to him to stop the impact. She barely noticed that change, wrapped up as she was in reminding him exactly how she felt about him. 

Zevran laughed into the kiss, his eyes red and shining, "Neria, cariña, the biting is…ah, stimulating, but if you intend on eating me whole, we may need to wait for another night."

Neira pulled away from his neck, red with embarrassment, “I may have got a little carried away,” she said, only just aware that she’d been straddling his waist. He incited something in her that she’d never felt before.

It made her feel wild, like there truly was dalish blood flowing in her veins. 

Zevran brushed her cheek, “are we okay?” He asked watching her carefully.

She nodded, pressing her lips to his palm, “I need you with me, Zevran. Together we might just do some good.” 

Zevran gave her a small nip behind her ear, smirking as she flinched at the sensation even as her legs tightened around him, “and, perhaps, if you'll let me, I can teach you there are many good ways to be bad.”


	6. Friendly Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Neria attempt to get to know eachother more, whilst their companions wish to get involved.

It was rare for Zevran to find himself lying next to a beautiful woman, a woman who drove him mad out of want, a virgin no less and in a position of such power...and to be still fully dressed. Neria was wrapped up within her bedroll, hair splayed across the canopy floor, her large, doe-like eyes peeking out out him, alight with curiosity and excitement. He lay apart from her, head resting on a rolled up blanket. For all he wished to be under those covers, burning from the touch of her skin, for once he was happy to be simply...there.

“What was it like, living in Antiva? Did you have your own place?” she asked, one of the many questions she'd asked him that night. Zevran found it strange to be talking so openly about his life, his wants and fears, and yet there was something so oddly freeing about sharing it all with someone.

“Hm, well I spent most of my time moving about the city, staying wherever the job took me, and whatever bed I happened to fall into. There were a few safehouses where I could bunk down should I find myself in trouble. We weren't really supposed to own property of our own...after all _we_ were property,” he licked his lips, staring into her eyes, “but I did... _take_ a place for my own. There was this little apartment by the docks. It was a small place, just a room really, but...you could see the sea - only where it touched the port, but through the buildings you could just see the horizon. And just beneath the apartment, there was this tannery...and the smell of the leather...well...you know how I feel about that,” he chuckled.

She smiled, imagining his memories as if they were her own, “I'd like that. To be able to see the sea. Out of the tower I could see Lake Calenhad...but some nights it would be so still it was like the night sky had been painted on the ground. There was no life there, but I read about the sea so many times, it always sounded so...dangerous so... _wild_.”

Zevran entwined their fingers, where their hands lay between them, “You would like her. Kindred spirits, one might say.”

“Kindred spirits?”

“Mm, great depth, often serene and beautiful, but you wouldn’t dare underestimate her.”

Neria laughed, “You’re such a flirt! You do realise you are already in my tent?”

“What do you mean?” Zevran tried to look coy, but admittedly it wasn’t his easiest expression to pull off, “I say you are beautiful because it is true! I lie about many things, but to call my words into question, when it concerns matters of the heart? It would be a crime to leave such truths unsaid.”

She pressed her lips together, her cheeks rosy, “and how many women exactly have you said those words to?”

“None! Well, not those exact words…in that order…ow!” He made an exaggeration of rubbing the back of his head after she lightly tapped it, but could not remove the grin from his face, “speaking of words, it is my turn to ask a question, yes?”

“Okay?”

“Tell me, my dear, do you like poetry?”

She looked surprised, “poetry? I've never really...thought about it. There was a few collections in the library at the tower, but I never thought to read them.”

“You never had a secret admirer leave you poetry? Not even a dirty limerick?” being a beautiful young elf, such as she, Zevran had a hard time imagining no-one had sought to gain her favour in such a way. Poetry was quite the craft of love in Antiva and after seeing the way that Templar Cullen had become besotted by her, he was quite astonished that not one had bothered.

“Not to me. Someone carved a crude drawing into one of the desks once...but I don't think it was very accurate.”

“Then allow me to remedy this immediately. I do not claim to know much poetry, but there is one that stuck in my mind,” he cleared his throat, wishing to recite the poem exactly as it had once been said to him, “ _The symphony's I see in thee, it whispers songs to me. Songs of hot breath upon my neck, songs of soft grunts by my head. Songs of hands on muscled back, songs of thee, come to my bed.”_

Neria stared at him before bursting into laughter, rolling onto her back, her feet kicking beneath her blankets, “That is the worst thing I've ever heard!” she sat up, still giddy, her hair a mess around her, “please tell me you made that up.”

Zevran loved to hear her laugh, “a target once recited it to me, I believe she called it 'sex poetry'.”

“ _Sex poetry?_ ” she giggled, “I've never heard anything less arousing! Arthur makes soft grunts when he sleeps too, is that really supposed to be an attractive noise?”

“As does Alistair, but I suppose that explains much…”

“Don’t be mean! Alistair doesn’t grunt…he just snores a lot."

Zevran shrugged, keeping his opinion to himself. As she settled down, he took her hand once more, brushing the length of her fingertips, and running his own down the back of her hand. There was something so sensual in the simple touch of another. For not the first time, he felt he may well drown in her. It was taking all his effort to keep to his side of the tent and not simply ravish her where she lay. He was determined to wait, to allow her to decide when she was ready, but as things grew only more intimate between them, he longed to know the taste of her skin and find out exactly what sounds she made in the throes of pleasure. When exactly had she claimed him for her own? He wasn't sure, but at that moment he felt under her spell completely.

He brushed the thoughts away, "do you wish to ask me anything else?" he offered.

She watched him thoughtfuly, the light of her staff reflected in her eyes. Her fingertips trailed up his arm to the crook of his elbow, then brushed the flat of her palm back down to his wrist, feeling every fine hair, every tiny scar.

"Why me?" she asked quietly, looking up through long lashes.

Zevran frowned, "what do you mean?"

"You could have any women, any man that you wanted should you only try. Leliana, even Morrigan was falling for your charm until you revealed your bet. Why pursue me?"

"I do believe you pursued me first," Zevran teased.

Neria bit her lip and rolled onto her back, pulling her hand slightly from his grasp, "nevermind."

With a dramatic sigh, Zevran moved closer to her side, forcing her to pay attention to him once more, "for someone who does not like poetry, you sure do love confirmation of one's affections," he smoothed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear, "I could say, that I admire your beauty, your innocence and your strength. You are strong in your convictions and yet willing to forgive most sins. Of course it would be amiss of me not to commend the perfect curve of your backside, or how much I wish to bite your lips everytime you pout in such a way...which is _everytime_ I say something particularly _dirty_. What can I say, it is a dangerous circle, no?" he hovered over her, eyebrow cocked daringly. She was still beneath him, her face inflamed, "and now, dear warden, you're desperately trying not to pout..."

She was going to argue the matter, he could see it in her eyes, but instead she bit down on her own lips involuntarily at his words. That's all it took for him to kiss the corner of her mouth, and when she released her plump lip, he nipped at the soft flesh with his teeth. He kissed her slowly and deeply, making sure she would remember every moment, every shared breath, and she made a soft grunt in his ear. He would have chuckled, had he not been certain that it would end things rather quickly. She did not yet know what noises he could draw from her. He pressed light kisses along her jaw, and down the line of her neck, his tongue dipping to taste the salt of her skin. When he finally pulled back, she gave a small whine at his absence. He brushed his thumb over her tender lips.

"Now...it was my turn, wasn't it?" he said falling back down beside her. She blinked, her breasts lifting the covers as she panted, staring blankly at the canopy.

Slowly he regained her attention, asking her questions once more of the tower and what she remembered from before. As the night wore on, she found her way into his arms, her cheek against his chest, their conversation drifiting to silence. Their breathing slowed together, until sleep took them both.

 

*

 

“Hey,” Alistair caught up to her along the road. His armour was covered with a cloak, the climate already getting considerably colder as they reached the Frostback mountains. Wynne was holding a steady rejuvenation spell to keep them all in good spirits.

“Oh, hi Ali,” Neria smiled, somewhat distracted. She'd been trying to cast a small fire spell into the palms of her hands for a good few hours, and she'd only been able to pull mere sparks from the fade. Fire based magic had never been a skill of hers. For some reason she simply couldn't keep it going for longer than a few seconds, and not nearly powerful enough for battle. Of course, that only made her more determined to master it.

“Any luck?”

She brushed the soot off her hands, “not really. I think I need to go back to the books. I wish I'd brought some with me.”

“I...uh...I wanted to give you something...I'm worried it won't last once it starts snowing.”

Neria looked up, only to find a long-stemmed red rose held before her, it's petals just starting to curl. She nearly tripped over, taken aback by the sweet gesture, “Alistair...I...” she could not find the words as she took hold of the rose, careful to avoid the thorns.

“I found it back in Lothering. I couldn't help but wonder how something so beautiful could exist in a world full of so much darkness.”

She brushed the petals, “it's beautiful.”

“It...reminded me of you actually,” Alistair said a nervous quiver in his voice, “I just thought, well...things are getting worse the longer we travel, and I'd regret not telling you how I feel...”

Neria felt a wave of guilt wash over her, butterflies in her stomach. Zevran was walking somewhere ahead with Wynne, and luckily didn't seem to have noticed the exchange. She thought they'd been quite obvious with their affections, disappearing off with each-other on more than one occasion.

“I'm so sorry Alistair, but I can't accept this,” she couldn't meet his eyes, “I really, really appreciate it, you have no idea, but I never meant to lead you on...”

“...It's Zevran, isn't it,” he interjected, voice oddly flat.

She bit her lip, looking up at the Templar. Alistair didn't look surprised, merely disheartened. He took her silence as affirmation.

Alistair sighed, “I _knew_ it. You know I asked him back along about how to approach you and I thought at the time his advice was strange but I just thought it was an Antivan thing, you know? Should have known he was interested in you, he barely ever talks about anyone else.”

“Really?” her face lit up, as much as she tried to quell it.

“Oh yeah, drives Morrigan crazy, so I just kind of went along with it,” he glanced at her, his face softening, “you really like him don't you.”

No question. Just a statement.

“He makes me happy,” she smiled, “you know, when he's not doing his best to piss me off.”

“Do you love him?” he asked quietly, and then quickly threw out his hands like he was retracting the statement, “no, don't answer. I don't need to know, I'm just being nosy. I can't say I'm thrilled about it...but if you're happy, I guess I'm happy for you.”

Her smile grew, her cheeks rosy from the cold, “thank-you, Alistair,” she hugged his arm, and he made a show of ruffling her hair. She tried to offer him back the rose but he pushed away her hand.

“Please, keep it. I still want you to have it,” he said, “oh, but if he hurts you in any way, I will kill him, just so you know.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

 

*

 

Neria was holding on to Alistair's arm, the two laughing together, like some beautiful, snow swept couple. The sight turned Zevran's mouth sour, the snake in his stomach (named jealousy) rearing its ugly head once more. He was tempted to turn on his heel and tackle Alistair to the ground, maybe slap his 'pretty' head around a little. It was only his dedication to appearing aloof at all times, and his affection for Neria that kept him marching on, fuming in silence. It wasn't that he didn't trust Neria, he just didn't trust the big buffoon not to say something unwittingly charming and sweep her off her feet.

“It's nice to see isn't it,” the elderly mage spoke, looking back over her shoulder, “young love.”

Zevran made a noise in the back of his throat. It was up to her what she interpreted it as.

“Oh, come now. We're not all as ignorant as some. What I find strange, is that you're walking up here with me, and not back there with her.”

“The warden doesn't need me holding her hand,” he said, pulling his cloak tighter.

“Perhaps not. But maybe she would like you to.”

Zevran pulled short, only to quickly start walking again, not wanting to alert those behind them to their conversation, “we don't...It's not like that. I'm simply giving her some space.”

“Cold bath not available? Good thing there's going to be plenty of snow ahead.”

For the first time in his life, Zevran blushed, “oh? Now we are talking about my cock? Real mature, Wynne. You know some people don't need to talk about sex all the time.”

The elderly mage didn't even blanch at his language. Instead she started laughing. Zevran's eyes narrowed, he knew that mage had a sordid past, but he had since given up trying to extract it from her.

“Very well. Although...if I was to guess, I think she may be having a _hard_ time too.”

“...really?” Zevran looked back over his shoulder again, meeting Neria's gaze. She smiled bashfully at him.

“Oh yes. Those few nights you're not sharing her tent – _yes, I've noticed that too_ ,” she added, “there are some...odd noises here and there. I'd dare say she misses your company.”

Zevran growled in frustration, “ _braska._ I'm trying to do the right thing here, Wynne.”

“Oh I know. That's the only reason I've allowed this little fling to go on for so long,” Zevran opened his mouth to interject but Wynne quickly hushed him, “no, you will listen to me now, young man. We all care a great deal for Neria, I dare say Alistair would steal her from you were you to make even the slightest of mistakes. I appreciate how you cared for her back at Brecilian Forest, and you have the makings of a good man. But if you dare hurt that girl, I swear to Andraste, I will freeze off your beloved cock so quickly, you'll learn the true meaning of the phrase 'blue balls'.”

Zevran swallowed uncomfortably. If his hands shifted to cover his manhood, it was only to ensure that everything was still intact...not through any fear of the old woman. _Right?_

“Is that understood?”

“Very much so.”

“Good,” Wynne's expression returned to its warm, grandmotherly smile, instead of the icy witch she had been mere moments ago.

They walked in silence for a couple minutes before Zevran was finally able to speak once again,

“Did I ever tell you how sexy, I find powerful and terrifying women, Wynne?”

She laughed lightly, “many times. You should also know, that I think you could make Neria happy, should you only try.”

Zevran fully intended to.

 


	7. The Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkspawn, Dwarves and the Deep-Roads. Zevran finds himself walking towards yet more danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long break between uploads! I lost inspiration for a while, but I'm back! Hopefully jucier chapters to come.

“Must we fix everyone's petty little quarrels?” Morrigan scowled, “leave the dwarves to their fate. They'll learn soon enough when the darkspawn come crawling out of the Deep Roads; I wonder if it will matter then, which King sits upon the throne.”

Neria and her companions sat in the small tavern on the top level of the grand city of Orzammar. 'Grand' it was, but only by sheer size, the streets were lined with beggars especially in the lower city, and a general air of dread seemed prominent in all the citizens regardless of which side of the fight they were on. Civil war was never pretty, brother fighting brother, father fighting son. The tavern crowd were rowdy, as were to be expected, friends brawling over spilt ale, and old men singing even older songs of days long gone. And yet, something about the whole scene felt like an act, a forced show of merriment, perhaps for their benefit.

The Dwarves hadn't been keen on letting the outsiders in on the discourse currently cutting through the heart of the city. However they'd barely been in the city a few hours before they'd been approached by multiple bearded faces, requesting their aid to end the stalemate. Normally, Neria wouldn't have thought twice about offering help, but the more time they spent needlessly chasing down falsified documents, or even rightfully helping take down the carta, the more she couldn't help but feel that they were wasting their time. The Blight wasn't going away, but the dwarves wouldn't move on the subject. A King needed to be chosen, or else they were to leave empty-handed.

“I know, I know. If you know of a way to get through to them Morrigan, I'll gladly hear it,” Neria slumped in her seat, both hands holding onto the large mug of ale she'd been nursing. Dwarven alcohol was far more potent, regardless of what name was on the bottle.

“Simple. Kill both of them. Whoever comes forward with an offer of soldiers can be named King.”

Alistair scoffed, “'cause they'll just love us after that.”

“Well how about you go win over the dwarves with _love_ , and we'll see how far that gets us?”

“I'd rather see you try. I'm curious as to whether you actually feel human emotion, or whether you really are just a bitch.”

Alistair let out a high pitched yelp. His ear pulsed red, caught between Morrigan's claws.

Leliana leant across the table, ignoring the scuffle between the two, “I think we should just support Harrowmont. Behlen killed his brother for the throne, I don't see how we can stand for a man like that.”

“There is no proof that Behlen killed his brother,” interjected Zevran, “he is the stronger ally and holds more right to the throne than a dead man's word. He would also end the caste system, which _any_ supporter of equal rights should approve of.”

Neria touched Zevran's thigh, a small smile on her lips. She loved it when he made an effort to voice his opinion. He was a passionate man, and spoke his heart given half the chance.

“You're right,” she said, “I'd forgotten why we came here. There may be a Blight, and it's true that we need their help, but we're in a position of responsibility. I don't just want these people to live through the Blight, I want them to have lives to return to after. So we help everyone, and more than anything I want to help the casteless.”

Zevran nodded approvingly, “then we side with Behlen, even if we have to go into the Deep Roads.”

 

*

 

Zevran felt more and more uneasy the further they went into the Deep Roads. He may have pushed the decision to go, eager as he was to try and be more benevolent, and also because the look on Neria's face had made it all worth it. He'd always had a soft spot for the underdog, and was always willing to bet on the stronger party – Behlen, was simply put, the better choice.

Going into the Deep Roads to support him however, wasn't the best part of the plan. He'd never spent much time underground, or lurking in caves, preferring soft beds and warm bosoms over the simple life. Orzammar was one thing; with the ceiling high above his head it was easier to ignore the fact that they were actually deep in the mountains. But the further they descended, the more confined the space became, the lights more dim and the inhabitants far less friendly.

Even with the dwarf guiding them along them roads, his burps echoing loudly against the cavern walls, Zevran felt as if he was heading further and further into a labyrinth from which they might never return.

“Why'dya go, woman?” Oghren took a large swill from his water pouch – which most definitely did not contain water. The ale dribbled down his chin disappearing into his beard, “Why'd ya leave me, _Branka_!” he sobbed. Zevran wasn't certain the dwarf remembered they were even with them until he turned around.

The dwarf was a drunken mess, but when it came to fighting, he certainly held his own. A rage would come over Oghren, yelling in fits between angry sobs, and his axe would take on a mind of its own as it slew through spiders and darkspawn alike. On more than one occasion the axe would go flying a little too close. Quick reflexes and a healthy sense of self preservation was the only thing that kept Zevran's ear attached to his head, when Oghren had got a little too close.

He threw a desperate look at Neria.

“Oghren?” she tried to catch his attention, kindly as ever, “Mr. Dwarf, Sir?”

The burp that echoed from the dwarf's mouth was all he gave to acknowledge that he'd heard her. She grimaced at the sight.

Morrigan strode past Neria, and grabbed the dwarf by his helmet. Oghren swung around, his already glazed over eyes dilating at the sight of the hauntingly beautiful witch.

“I suggest you keep your vile gases to yourself, _Dwarf_. I'd imagine that would be just one of the many things that sent your wife running,” She snatched the pouch from his hands, launching it away into the darkness, “now, how about you keep quiet before you announce us to the entire horde?”

The dwarf swayed in place, when the witch let him go, mumbled words getting lost somewhere in his beard. Neria gingerly placed a hand on his back, urging him to start walking again, before falling back in line with Zevran.

“ _Wow._ ”

Neria nodded, “that's why I brought her.”

“I'm pretty sure she just made the dwarf aroused,”

“Ugh!” she hit his arm, trying to keep her laughter quiet.

“What?” Zevran smiled, “there's something about a powerful mage, looking at you with fire in her eyes...it does something to a man, no? Every-time you get angry, little Zevran gets very excited.”

“Oh! _Little,_ is it?”

He held a hand to his heart, “Ah, you got me. I tried to impress you by being modest. The truth would drive you mad with lust, and I'm not a cruel man.”

Zevran could almost feel the cold draft of Morrigan's icy glare back at the two of them, but the warmth of Neria's stifled laughter blocked out all else.

 

*

 

Oghren gave a deep guttural groan, throwing down his axe. His face had been growing steadily puffier as they'd walked, his sallow skin turning red from exertion. He stretched, bones cracking, and stuffed his hand down the front of his armoured cod-piece, re-arranging his 'little Oghren' for everyone to see.

“ _Thunderhumper_! I'm chafing myself raw!”

Morrigan turned away disgusted, most likely counting to ten in her head to stop herself from tearing the dwarf apart with her bare hands. Neria seemed to be pretending not to see anything, a blush creeping up to the tips her ears.

“Don't itch. You'll need a cream,” Zevran commented. Having grown up in a brothel, he had seen all sorts of venereal disease, but he didn't particularly want to have to see one up close.

“Bah! Cream? I'm no woman!”

“Hm, yes. I suppose you could just let your cock rot...I hear they grow back you know.”

Oghren's eyes narrowed, “Damned Elves. Trying to be clever with your words,” He unclipped some of his armour, “'knew we didn't like your lot.”

“That's just a myth.”

“ _Then why the feck are you getting on my tits?!”_ The dwarf gave a loud sigh of relief as he collapsed on the floor, his armour popping off his bulges of fat, “think my armour shrunk...”

...Apparently they were camping for the night. If you could even call it night. Zevran looked up at the roof of the cave, a mere foot above their heads. He couldn't help but wish they would move on deeper into the roads, somewhere with a bit more air. It wasn't that he was claustrophobic...he just always liked to know where the nearest exit was.

Morrigan looked with distaste at the lump of rocks that made up their beds for the night. Living in a tent for the past few months had softened her.

“Someone light a fire,” said Oghren, eyes closing already.

Morrigan bit, “yes, lets make sure the darkspawn know exactly where we are.”

“Darkspawn aren't the only thing down here, and most of them won't care if there's light or not. I'd rather be able to see the thing trying to eat me...but that's just me,” the dwarf grumbled, effectively shutting down the conversation.

The night, or whatever you would call it, passed slowly. Neria had cast some sort of barrier spell to warn them if anything got too close, but it didn't stop the sounds that rose from below haunting them as they tried to sleep. Clicking noises echoed in the walls around them. It felt all too much like the ruins in the Brecillian forest all over again. They'd already seen giant spiders down here, but Zev was half convinced that the were-wolves were pacing in the dark.

Neria was curled up on her side, wrapped in her cloak, pressed up against Zevran's leg. He'd opted to take the first watch, not willing to close his eyes just yet. Gently, so as not to wake her, he stroked her hair. He would not let them be caught unaware like they had been before.

He had been all too happy to go into the deep-roads as long as he could stay by her side. To be waiting in Orzammar, with no idea as to her fate...Zevran could not bare the thought. He was no fool. He knew there was a very good chance they could die on any part of their quest, but if they were to die, he would die by her side.

“Zev?” she whispered.

“I am here. Go back to sleep, cariña”

Despite his words she sat up, “are you okay? You're shaking...” she took his hand in hers.

 _Am I?_ Zevran had not realised, but it was true. A tremor ran through his calloused hands, his breathing erratic. Now he could feel the palpitations in his chest, the deep rooted fear clawing at his throat. He let out a gulp of air, grasping at his chest.

“ _I...”_

Neria cupped his cheek, trying to look into his panicked eyes, “Zevran? What's wrong?”

“...Nothing...I just...” he felt confused at his own bodies reaction. He resisted the urge to pull his hand from Neria's, to run away. He felt as if the roof of the cave was closing in on them, the dark corners pulling closer, and he just couldn't _breathe._

He felt the moment her rejuvenation magic began to seep into his skin, like a calming presence pushing down on his panic, smothering him as if quenching a fire. A cold sweat was dripping off him, but the sensation faded as the world around them seemed to break away. All that was left was the two elves, eye to eye, his breathing slowing to match her own.

For a long moment they sat in silence, reality slowly reasserting itself around them.

Her kind smile was all he could see, her thumb brushing his cheek, “are you with me?” she spoke quietly.

Zevran nodded, frowning.

Without saying another word Neria moved forward, placing her head in the nook beneath his chin, pressed up against his chest, as if it was him comforting her. Naturally, he stroked her back, glad to feel as if he was coming back into his own body.

“...sorry,” he said.

“don't be.”

“I don't usually...” he rested his chin on her head, threading his free hand back through his hair, “not in a long time.”

“...was it the dark? Or the space?” she asked no judgement in her voice.

He wanted to tell her that he long since left behind such childhood fears, that the crows had beaten them out of him. He wanted to joke that he'd once hidden in a coffin at a funeral for six hours just to get at a target. He wanted to lie. He didn't want her to know how much he feared he would lose her before the end.

He hadn't known it was possible to find new things to be afraid of.

 


	8. The Deeper Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neria descends further into the deep roads and comes to terms with what it means to be a warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I can't write without things turning angsty, but we're beginning to see the start of things getting more lighthearted (and a little bit steamy!). There is some explicit language in this chapter, mainly because Oghren is involved.

She missed the sun. For so many years she had only seen the sun through stained glass, but after months of walking around in the bright light of day, she found herself greedy, desperate to feel the warmth upon her skin once again. Descending further into the deep roads, the darkness felt heavy, impassable.

There was warmth here too. A smothering, uncomfortable sort of heat. Her robes stuck to her back with sweat and the air was thick, suffocating. They abandoned some of their heavier clothing as they went, unable to bear the extra weight or the thick material against their skin. She felt sorry for Zevran in his heavy leather cuirass. He'd tied his hair back off of his neck, drips of moisture disappearing beneath his armour. Zevran always took such pride in his appearance, but she couldn't help but enjoy the sight of him dishevelled and a little rough around the edges.

She didn't say anything. As much as he normally enjoyed playing with her, joking and trying to drive her mad with temptation...but he seemed quieter than usual. He had assured her that he was fine, with a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

As they walked through the darkness, his hand would brush hers, a little reminder that he was still beside her. When they settled to sleep, there would be a look in his eyes as they stayed on her, even as sleep must have been claiming them.

There was one word that came to mind. Futility.

The walls of the caves transformed, covered in tumourous masses, the stench of death around them. Darkspawn and monstrous creatures feasted upon another in an endless of chain of mindless slaughter. It was as if they were walking into the depths of hell.

They found themselves in a large cavernous space, the noise of clashing metal bouncing off the walls along with the faint glow of the lava passing somewhere beneath their feet.

Neria felt it before she saw it. Her legs gave way beneath her, Zevran's quick hands the only thing keeping her on her feet. She heard him distantly shout for her, but the world had fallen apart around her. The only thing that existed was the horrific, inhuman scream in her mind, a deep ominous presence pressing down on her skull, and pushing against the back of her eyes. She could feel it within every pore, every orifice, the darkness inside clawing to get back out.

The darkspawn blood, boiling within her own, was calling to its master.

The deafening scream in her own head, suddenly tore through the cavern, along with a fierce gale of wind that sent her companions to the ground with the sheer force of its power. The Arch-demon swept low over them, passing them by with no acknowledgement, diving deep into the wide crevice before them.

“ _Asschaps!”_ Oghren's muffled voice got lost within his helmet.

Morrigan's face was pale, her stoic demeanour lost in the closest look to fear Neria had ever seen on the witches face.

“ _Neria_?” Zevran called again, hovering over her, his hands clasping her face. His body fully shielded hers as if his mere mortal form could protect her from the arch-demons clutches.

“I'm okay, I'm okay...” she said as if she could convince her shaking body. Zevran's eyes darted between her own, his jaw trembling with every breath. She saw in his face the same fear she had seen nights before, the same fear she had seen everyday since, and she realised the epiphany he had faced.

Futility.

The uselessness of their situation. How pointless it was to seek each-other, to seek comfort, perhaps even love, when it all could be taken away in the breath of a moment. Just like Rinna. A pointless death.

How can you fight death itself?

 

*

 

They sat in silence. At their centre, a fire smouldered and the rigid corpse of a spider hung in the air, slowly roasting above it. Every now again a drip of something vile fell from the creature and the low flames would spit and crackle.

As hungry as Neria was, the sight turned her stomach.

Zevran had set traps either side of them in the tunnel, allowing the mages to reserve the magic. That is what he had said, but Neria suspected he had needed something to focus on, away from the others.

“The Dead Trenches only go so far. We must be near the Anvil,” Oghren stood, staring up at some old map chiselled into the wall, marked with faint lines and the odd rune. The dwarf seemed more sober than usual, vigilant even. You could almost see the great warrior he claimed to be.

“Then let us hope there is also a way out. I believe I speak for us all when I say, I do not wish to go back the way we came,” Morrigan said solemnly, her yellow eyes dancing with firelight.

Zevran eventually came and settled by her side. He took one of the charred legs when offered, but simply left it on the piece of cloth before him.

With time the others fell into a restless sleep, but the two elves remained awake. They sat before the fire, hands entwined, hearts heavy. It was much like the night they had first kissed, but without the stars above their heads and the warmth of possibility. That night she had been scared of the things she had seen, and what she might become. Now she was simply scared.

She gave an exaggerated groan, curling into his side, “I _hate_ this,” she spoke into his neck, “my body aches, like, all the time. I don't know where the dirt ends and where my skin begins and I'm pretty sure that awful smell is just me...” she moaned. Zevran's low chuckle echoed through his chest, his arms wrapping around her.

His laughter warmed her heart. He was a man built for summer days, sweet wines, and losing himself in the pleasures of life. She wished desperately to know what he was like when he was free.

“I need a bath,” she mumbled as he held her closer.

“Ah...now that is a thought I can lose myself in,” he said, his fingers brushing up and down her arm, “...warm water, candles...bare skin. Perhaps I will bathe you myself?”

“And what exactly makes you think you will be in my bath?”

He leant her down against the rock, humming in thought. The darkness felt less harrowing, more like the simple cover of night, “perhaps I could slip in first? Tempt you to join me?”

“A strong mage is not easily tempted.”

“You maybe strong, dear warden, but you make me weak. Perhaps I will have to beg you, entice you to seek release...”

Neria swallowed, looking up into his eyes barely lit by the fire. The air between them softened, his eyes releasing hers as he lay to rest next to her, fingertips stroking back her hair, filthy as it was, “perhaps one day, I will make good on my promises. If we ever leave this nightmare behind us.”

And there it was again. The darkness engulfing her sun.

“Oghren said we were near the anvil. We're nearly at the end.”

“The end of the deep-roads. But not the end of this...war or disease. I used to find such danger exciting...challenging death is one of lifes greatest thrills, far greater than alcohol or sex. The beauty of simply being alive...life, unfiltered. It's easy to lose yourself in,” he spoke quietly, “...but to see someone else...someone you...”

Neria stopped him with a quick kiss, a light touching of lips to swallow his words.

“I know,” she said simply.

It was easy to give into fear. It always is. And when the world is tearing itself apart, its even easier. Lost down there in the dark, they were barely more than children.

But they weren't.

She curled in closer to him, ignoring the hard stone beneath her cloak, picturing in her head the warm blankets of their tent, “tell me another one of your adventures.”

He released a deep sigh, tension leaving him in her embrace. When he spoke once more, he was Zevran the Crow, assassin of Antiva, spinning tales of adventure and romance.

 

*

 

 

_First day, they come and catch everyone._   
_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._   
_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._   
_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._   
_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._   
_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._   
_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._   
_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated._   
_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._   
_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast._   
_Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams._

 

Hespith was half gone by the time they found her. Her words echoed around them, the walls whispering as they walked. Seeing the woman, twisted and blind, Neria realised the true evil of the blight. The same corruption that ran through her own blood.

And yet, the horrors they witnessed brought about a clarity that she had lost since their descent into the dark. If she didn't stop this, the horrors would only continue. If there was even a chance of success, she had to try. She had already seen her home torn apart by disaster, she could not allow it to happen to Ferelden too.

So when she came across the Brood-mother, the bloated beast that had once been a woman, she only felt her resolve strengthen. No more fear, no more darkness, because she would be the light.

The creature screeched at the sight of them, drawing darkspawn from all around. The carnage seemed endless, Morrigan tearing the beasts apart with her magic and Oghren swinging his axe at a writhing tentacle over and over until a spray of black blood erupted from its remaining stump. Zevran was like a ghost, disappearing and reappearing here and there as he jumped from foe to foe. His hardened face, grew somehow calmer as he found his flow. The artistry of the kill had always been his forte.

Grabbing a Shriek before it could vanish, Zevran launched it across the room at Oghren, who yelled in surprise, raising his axe just in time.

“Agh! That's strike two elf!” the dwarf roared. The dwarf's blood was boiling at a true fight, and the elf's light-hearted laugh only fueled his fury, “FUCKING DARKSPAWN!”

Neria surrounded herself in an armour of rock, knocking darkspawn away with a mere swipe of her arm, and pinning them down with great roots of stone twisting up from the ground. With a great swing over her head, she whipped her staff down, the blade sinking into the rock. The stone tendrils stretched up and supported the roof over their heads, whilst great landslides of rock and earth crashed down upon the Brood-mother. The monster screamed, spitting corrosive acid at their feet. It was only when Oghren's axe cleaved its head in two, that the Brood-mother slumped, and finally lay still.

Their collective laboured breaths filled the room, but the exhilaration that ran through their blood kept their spirits high. As her magic faded, she found herself walking towards the hulking form. Gently, she reached out a hand to touch the bloated skin.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I hope now you can find peace.”

Oghren muttered angrily under his breath; the only word she caught was 'Branka'.

Neria turned on her heel, facing her companions. She met their eyes one by one, lingering on Oghren, “nothing like this happens again.”

 

*

 

As they came upon the Anvil, that vow rang clear in her head. She felt a new strength in her bones, a greater purpose beyond 'warden' or 'mage'.

Branka wasn't what she had imagined. Oghren's love for her was clear in drunken rambling, but this woman before them was cold and formidable. And yet it was her eyes that disturbed Neria the most. There was no sense of loss there, no sorrow for what had befallen her companions, just a dark obsession that may only be sated by blood.

“Shave my back and call me an elf!” Oghren exclaimed, his face lit up at the sight of his wife, “Branka? By the Stone, I barely recognised you!”

“Oghren. It figures you'd eventually find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily,” Branka's cold eyes found Neria's, “and how shall I address you? Hired sword of the latest lordling to come look for me? Or just the only one who didn't mind Oghren's ale-breath?”

“Be respectful woman! You're talking to a Grey Warden!”

Neria was surprised to hear Oghren jump to her defence. It was perhaps the nicest thing he had said since they met. It became quickly clear that Branka didn't give a flying nug as to who was standing before her, her husband included. From upon her rampart, she gave orders for them to clear the way now that the rest of her soldiers were dead.

Begrudgingly they pushed forward, Oghren's muttering becoming less and less intelligible.

The Anvil of the Void was held in a cavernous room almost as splendid as the diamond quarter of Orzammar. Great lyrium crystals grew out of the walls, whilst lava flowed freely, illuminating the room and the great hulking figure standing before them. The golem, which despite the lack of stone it clearly was, was formed of hard intricately decorated lines. It stood like a giant suit of armour, lightning flickering from within and sparking off the hard metal. For the first time the word 'Paragon' held real meaning.

No wonder the dwarves worshipped this thing like a god.

“Don't listen to anything he says!” Branka pushed past them, interrupting Caridin's story about the creation of the golems, “he's been trapped here for a thousand years, stewing in his own madness. Help me claim the anvil, and you will have an army like you've never seen!”

“Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail! Does this thing mean that much to you that you can't see what you've lost to get it?”

Oghren's words fell upon deaf ears. Neria could see it in Branka's eyes, the madness that she claimed belonged to Caridin. She could feel Zevran close by her side, daggers in hand. As always they were in sync. They could feel when something was about to turn ugly.

“The anvil must be destroyed. I will not allow this atrocity to happen again,” Neria said calmly, and was surprised to feel Zevran touch her arm,

“ _Wait,”_ he whispered in her ear, “ _It just...it seems a waste to destroy the anvil...given what it could do.”_

His words gave her pause, but not the the reason he would suspect. She knew that his opinions were often cut-and-dry but she hadn't expected him to be so willing to hold onto power, regardless of how evil the premise.

“ _And how would you like to become a golem?”_ she hissed.

“ _Now lets be reasonable. You wouldn't do that.”_

_“You seem to think I would.”_

He sighed, eyebrows furrowed. His eyes moved past her to the great anvil perched up high, “fine,” he said aloud, “destroy the anvil.”

“It enslaves living souls. This cycle of evil needs to end.”

Caridin's baratone voice echoed from its iron tomb, “Thankyou stranger. Your compassion shames me.”

Branka gave a hysterical scream; the stone golems that had been mere statues before, sparked to life around her as if awakened by her call. The light from the lyrium crystals dissipated around her, “Golems, obey me! Attack!”

There was a frenzy of movement, iron connecting with stone, the ground beneath their feet shaking with heavy feet.

“Zevran! Oghren! Take Branka!” Neria shouted, directing her magic at the golems, as Morrigan transformed into a giant bear, tackling one to the ground. Swords were useless against the solid rock, but magic was far more effective, even amplifying with the amount of lyrium around them. She cast a frost spell over a golem stopping it in its tracks. The ice caught between the lumps of stone whined under the force it was under. With focus she caused the ice to expand, before exploding taking great lumps of rock with it.

Oghren may have been consumed by madness on the battlefield, but Branka was out of her mind. The dark shadows under her eyes were deep, he eyes glowing with lyrium. But it was her madness that was her downfall. She swung erratically at her husband, a fierce power behind each swing.

Caught up in her anger as she was, she barely noticed when Zevran caught her from behind when her axe was raised, and slid a knife into her kidney, then up between her ribs in rapid succession. The paragon barely noticed, stumbling forward, her axe falling far from Oghren, but even that mattered little. She reached for him with bare hands, taking him to the floor, clawing at his face with her nails, even as her body convulsed, and blood dripped from her mouth.

“ _Branka_!” Oghren cried, his ruddy face screwed up in pain and anguish, “Branka stop! It's over, woman!”

With one last effort, she spat a mouthful of blood at his face, rolling off him and finally, remaining still.

The last golem returned to stone, and the cavern was silent.

Slowly Zevran walked over to Oghren, “I'm sorry,” he said offering his hand. Oghren slapped the hand away, sitting up and wiping the blood, mixed with his own tears, from his face.

 

*

 

Behlen was crowned king. The horrors of the deep-roads were lost to revelry and drunken partying – after Lord Harrowmont's followers were dealt with of course.

The once empty palace was filled to the brim with dwarves of all castes, eager to see the brilliance of the diamond quarter usually closed off to them. The party flowed out into the streets. Drunks were already passed out in the street, and even those who never supported Behlen seemed happy for an excuse to dance and enjoy themselves once more. It had been a short and bloody civil war, with the blight on their doorstep. They would celebrate for as long as they could.

Neria had been offered a new set of robes. The skirt only fell to just below her knees, still showing off her boots, and was a little wide across her frame, but it felt wonderful to be in fresh clothes once more.

The Dwarven music was loud and erratic. A large band had set up in the corner of the central room, mainly consisting of drums and varied plucked string instruments. There didn't seem to be individual songs, but just one long cacophony of energetic noise. Surprisingly...it was rather good.

“We managed to chase down the remaining carta elements,” Alistair explained, after the hugging and explanations were through, “tried to encourage the business owners to look after each-other...but you know what they say. There's nothing as stubborn as a dwarf.”

A particularly large, gruff looking dwarf glared at Alistair, his face turning a further shade of red.

“Uh...apart from humans as course! Ha!” Alistair gave a fake laugh, quickly pulling away from the crowd.

It was nice to have all of her companions together once more, laughing and drinking. She had missed the light-hearted feeling of being around friends. It gave her hope. But there was one friend she was concerned for the most.

She finally tracked down Oghren, sat at one of the several bars that had been set up, empty tankards lined up beside him. He seemed to be left well enough alone, what with his axe buried deep in the wooden floor nearby. He barely looked up when she came near. His face was lost deep within a pitcher, ale dribbling sloppily down his chin and soaking his beard. When the last drop was supped, he looked deep into the tankard as if more would magically reappear.

“Where did ya go?” he mumbled, his head swaying. He looked up yelling at no-one in particular, his eyes glazed over, “who stole my fecking drink?”

“Oghren?” she asked gently, touching his shoulder. He flinched away from her, holding the tankard tight to his chest.

“No. NO. It's mine. I'm not finished,” he slurred.

She sat on the stool next to him, “actually I was going to offer to get you another.”

Tears sprung in Oghren's eyes, his face trembling as a sad smile got lost within his beard, “...you're a good one. You know that? A true friend!” he punched her shoulder, not noticing her wince. He reached for the bottle of spirits as soon as it came close, not bothering to pour out a shot. He took a long swig, not even flinching. The fumes alone were enough to knock someone out, but Neria took her own sip, the fire roaring in her chest. It tasted like poison, but it didn't half feel good.

“Why'd she do it? Huh? If she stayed...I could...I could have made her happy, you know?” he hiccuped. His voice lowered to a whisper, “of course, if I'd known she'd liked the ladies, there would have been more we could do...if you know what I mean. I don't mind sharing, if she don't!” he barked a laugh.

“Its not your fault Oghren.”

“It's because I don't have a cunt isn't it...”

Neria rolled her eyes, looking over the crude use of language.

“ _But I could have improvised_!”

“ _Oghren!”_ she said sternly, “it wasn't you. It was the anvil, she lost her mind to the thing. She wasn't the woman you knew.”

He moaned, “couldn't you just have given it to her?”

“No. I couldn't. You knew it wasn't right, either,” she touched his cheek, wiping the tears from his haggard face, “you have problems...I'm not going to lie. But you're a good man Oghren. We wouldn't have survived the Deep Roads without you.”

He launched himself forward, his face buried deep between his breasts, as he gave great hulking sobs. Gently she stroked his hair, “lets have a dance, yeah?”

 

*

 

Zevran was drunk. And that was saying something. He felt fantastic and utterly relieved to be so close to the surface once more. A few more shots of something strong and he might just forget...

He danced with the dwarves, both men and women, his hair tied back out of his face. He danced until he could barely stand, and found himself lounged out on a bench, telling several young Dwarven maids about his adventures with the crows. He loved to watch them ooh and ah at the twists in his tales, and the blush that creept into their cheeks when he spoke of the shield-maiden he had seduced to his bed.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because he was on his own, the rest of the party still going on around him. He lay with his cheek smushed against the wood of the bench, his hand grazing the floor.

Between the masses he saw her.

Neria.

Her dark hair had been twisted up and secured with a jewelled hair pin – not doubt another present gifted to her by the young Dwarven girls who had taken a fancy to her. The dress she wore was short, showing just a slip of pale skin above her boots.

His blood ran hot, his eyes following her as she moved, dancing far more intricately then her many partners. Once more, he could see the Dalish in her, the free spirit. Why did he fear so, when she was so much stronger than him? She was power untamed.

Zevran dragged himself to his feet, drawn by her light. His feet were heavy and he knocked into several couple, but his eyes never moved.

“Neria,” he called as he reached her, and she turned, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. Why did she look so worried? He wanted to smooth out her frown and the little crinkles in her nose.

“Zevran?” she grabbed him, easing his swaying. She was _so_ kind, “are you okay? You don't look well.”

“Drunk on love,” he said, the slurring disrupting his usually smooth accent.

“Come on,” she begged apologies of her new friends, as she dragged him away to a quiet corner. He followed willingly, nuzzling into her neck.

She sat him down, brushing his unruly hair back from his face, and retying it. He shivered as her magic seeped over him. He felt more awake as the fuzzy edges receded, and his eye-sight cleared. The creeping sickness seemed to fade too.

“Thank-you,” he mumbled.

“You've been avoiding me.”

“I'm here aren't I?”

“Only because you couldn't think straight. How many fingers am I holding up?”

He blinked, still looking straight at her face instead of her hand, “I'm sorry.”

“You say that a lot,” she pulled the drapes around the alcove she had found them. The light around them dimmed. Still, it was far more comfortable than the deep-roads.

“I might not have been the best person to take down there.”

“I didn't particularly enjoy it either...but vulnerability isn't always a bad thing you know. Sometimes you come out stronger...” she paused, “but there is one thing I don't understand. After everything...why pick Branka's side?”

“I picked yours, didn't I?”

“Survival isn't all that matters, Zev.”

“Doesn't it? I'm trying to be a better person, cariña, but in my heart all I care about is that we both get out of this alive. The blight can take Ferelden for all I care, it has done nothing for me. Why must you be the one to lose your life to this fucking war? The crows were cruel, but this is just...futile.”

She sighed, her eyes hidden behind long glistening eyelashes, “I know. But...this is so much bigger than the two of us...as much as I wish that it wasn't. And even if you didn't intend to, you've made...all of this, all the pain and fear...so much more bearable. I don't need you to protect me, I just need to know you're in this with me. Sometimes, you have to be the one to try and make the world a better place.”

Neria rose from her seat peeking out of the drape. The light touched the soft contours of her face. Reluctantly, he took her hand. There was so much he wished to say, to argue. He wished he could simply knock her out and take her with him, far away from this place or the crows. She would suit a life in the sun.

“Look at them all,” she whispered, looking out on the dancing couples, the laughter and singing, “we made that happen,” he watched for a moment before his gaze fell back on her. The pure love in her eyes at the happiness before her...it felt like a hand grasping his heart. He knew then he would do anything to make her happy.

“ _Amor_...” and he kissed her before he could stop himself. Her lips were stolen between his own, pulling her attention away and allowing the drape to fall once more. There was a fire in his blood and he couldn't get enough of the taste of her, and thankfully she didn't stop him. The kiss only grew in its intensity, her scent awakening his senses dulled by the alcohol. He was lost in her, parting only for a catch of breath, before she had found him once more, her delicate tongue slipping past his lips.

He's hardly aware of his hands, one knotted in her hair, the other brushing the bare skin of her knee, slowly seeking passage beneath the silken robe. But the soft skin of her thigh is addictive, and his fingers travel the line of her leg to the slight curve of her rear.

Zevran gasped into her mouth as she jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He can barely remain standing, light as she is. His head was swimming as if he'd never known such intimate touches before. He walked forward, pressing her back against the wall. He released her lips to press open-mouthed kisses along the sweep of her neck, his tongue dipping into her collar bone.

Her back arched at his ministrations, her breasts pressing firmly against his chest. He can feel the deep heat between her legs where she is held so tightly against him. As much as he tried to resist the urge, every-time she mewled, his hips would roll against hers, desperate for contact.

“ _Zev_ ,” his name said in such breathy tones almost undid him. He was half-mad with want. He could have taken her there and then...

The drape pulled back, spilling light upon them. With a yelp, Neria buried her head into Zevran's chest, hiding herself from view. He froze, his chest panting with hurried breaths, oxygen flooding his brain once more. He released his iron-tight grip, as she slowly slide to the floor.

Zevran looked over his shoulder just in time to see the silhouette of the dwarf, Oghren, before the drape fell closed once more.

“Oh. Its you two,” the dwarf mumbled, “don't mind me.”

And with that, the dwarf passed out on the floor, a loud snore rumbling from within his beard.

Shocked at the sudden intrusion, he looked back to Neria, growing used to the dark once more. She met his eyes before bursting into a fit of giggles, holding her side.

“ _Cari_ _ñ_ _a_ ,” he chided, still caught up in their previous moment. But he couldn't help a grin at the sound of her laughter.

Still laughing, Neria kissed his cheek, pulling away from him, “we better find him a bed.”

Zevran quickly wrapped his arm around her middle, pulling her back against him, “or _we_ could find a bed?” he nipped at her ear, desperate to pull her back into his embrace.

“You are still drunk, and I'm definitely not sober,” she turned pressing a chaste kiss against his lips, allowing him to chase her back, “I'd rather remember my first time. Preferably not around a bunch of drunken dwarves...hm?”

She left him standing there, dropping down instead to check on Oghren's breathing, “will you help me?”

Zevran sighed bracing himself against the wall, “fine. But I'm going to need a minute,” he gestured freely at the shape of his length barely concealed in his tight trousers. Even with the intrusion, he was feeling less than comfortable.

“Oh,” Neria blushed, “can I help?”

“Definitely not. You stay over there. I'm going to need to stare at Oghren for a minute.”

 


	9. I Always Choose You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one seduce an Antivan Crow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never written anything like this before, but it was certainly enjoyable to write! If you have no interest in smut, turn away now! Hope you enjoy...

“Leliana...can I ask you something?”

The sister's eyes lit up, “but, of course, Warden,” she pulled in close to Neria as they walked, more than ready to share whatever gossip she had to offer. Somehow, Neria didn't believe it was purely the act of confession that Leliana enjoyed.

“It's a bit...sensitive.”

“Say no more. Whatever we speak of is between us and the Maker,” she winked.

Neria grimaced, “I don't know if I want the Maker to hear this...”

The two of them had pulled to the back of the group as the trundled through the heavy snow up the mountains. Finding Haven was proving far more difficult then they had expected even with Brother Genitivi's instructions to his assistant. The thick rolls of cloud overhead watched them with threatening intent.

Oghren was ploughing through the snow, walking in Sten's tracks, some of the snow drafts grazing his shoulders. Every day he seemed more and more himself. Whether that was a good or bad thing was yet to be seen.

But at that moment, Neria was struggling to focus on the grand scheme of things, her mind inconveniently elsewhere.

“It's just...” she fought her embarrassment at the subject, trying to find the words. Her eyes drifted to where Zevran walked alongside Oghren, wrapped in a fur cloak, snowflakes settling in his golden hair. His face was red with the cold, but he appeared to be in good spirits, trading back and forth the worst insults the two could think of.

“...Neria?” Leliana called softly, reminding her of their conversation.

The mage bit at her chapped lips, “sorry. It's nothing really.”

“It was something, otherwise you wouldn't have brought it up,” Leliana smiled kindly, dimples in her cheeks, “even if you don't talk to me you should talk to someone.”

“It's not that, its...”

“Is it about Zevran?” the sister knew already by her tone.

“Yes.”

“Has he done something wrong?”

Neria laughed dryly, “surprisingly no. He's insistent on being the perfect gentleman.”

“...I see. And that is so dreadful because?”

“Because, I'm a coward!”

Leliana shook her head insistently, “no! Not at all!” she threaded her arm through Neria's, ignoring their height differences and the fact it made it far harder to walk through the snow. It did however make the conversation feel more private, and the sister's warm heart radiated through her, comforting Neria by mere touch, “why would you say such a thing?”

“I...I don't know how to...” she internally groaned, “how to show him I'm, you know...interested?”

“Interested?”

Neria nodded silently, tucking her head further down into her cloak to hide the colour of her cheeks. Leliana, maker bless her, didn't take much nudging.

“you mean sex, yes?” she asked delicately.

“Mmhm,” the cloak muffled her affirmation.

“But, hasn't he already tried? He's not one to take things slow.”

“Oh, he has. Months ago, maybe. I told him I wasn't ready.”

“Good. It is is good to be firm in ones beliefs,” she squeezed her arm in reassurance, “but I assume that has now changed?”

“...In Orzammar, at the celebrations, we...we were closer then we'd have come before, but we were both drunk and...and then there was Oghren, and it just wasn't right. But...I did want to...even if it terrified me. But now he's back to barely touching me, as if he's scared of pushing me too far. I love that he cares...but...”

Leliana's sweet smile grew, “you want to make love to him.”

Neria breathed a sigh of relief, “yes,” those were the words she was looking for. Not Oghren or Sten's idea of rutting, or the sloppy groping of the other mages in the tower. She wanted him so much more than that. Although the idea of being skin to skin, of giving herself to him and taking everything she could in return...

She could feel heat sparking in her fingertips, the first curls of flame that she'd tried so hard to summon before. With a shriek she let go of Leliana, shaking out her hands, urging the magic away.

Zevran looked back over his shoulder at her, concern at the sound of her voice. She disappeared for a second, before standing back up, forcing a smile to convince him she was okay. His eyes trailed over her face, before he turned back to Oghren.

Clumps of snow melted between her fingers, a light steam rising from them. Leliana reached out to her, “are you okay!?” she looked genuinely worried.

Neria nodded, “a little closeted maybe.”

They joined arms again, continuing to march through the snow.

“Look...if you can't find the courage to tell him outright...maybe ask him another way?”

“I don't know if I can.”

Leliana pouted, “do you want me to tell him?”

“ _No!”_

“then we face your fears. No words necessary.”

Neria looked at her friend, dubious of her conviction. How she wished she was more like Leliana, or Isabela from the brothel. To have confidence in her body and in her words. How could she face darkspawn and demons and yet falter in the face of the one she adored? The one she loved?

“Okay. I trust you.”

 

*

 

The Frostback Mountains were no place to set up camp, but they had little choice when darkness fell upon them and haven was still no where to be found. Snow was settling on the tents, and the campfire flickered in the wind. The tents were huddled far closer than usual in an attempt to preserve what little heat there was, and to offer some shelter to the fire, lest their be no flames at all.

Yet, despite it all, even wrapped in layers of fur and blankets, Zevran was glad to be out in the fresh air. After the weeks spent down in the deep-roads, the open sky called to him. He mapped out the stars above him. He didn't know their names but he felt a certain kinship he couldn't explain.

The air was sharp in his lungs, but it was fresh and all that much sweeter. He'd spent the last few nights outside far more than he had in his tent, not keen on being crammed into a small space again so soon. As a shiver passed over him, he feared he would have little choice that night.

It was the early hours of the morning when Leliana dragged herself from her tent, yawning widely.

“I can go a few more hours yet, my dear,” Zevran spoke softly so as to not awaken the others, “you can rest still.”

“Not with these storms I shan't. I thought Emprise Du Lion was cold, but this is quite unbearable. I would much rather trade your place at the fire.”

“Very well, but I may stay a while longer.”

The fire light flickered in the reflection of Leliana's eyes, “you stand guard every night, even the infamous crow must need his sleep.”

“I'm fine,” he said.

“Just go to bed will you?”

Zevran chuckled half-heartedly, “if you don't wish my company you need only say,” he met her stern gaze, “give me a call if you need me. I doubt I will sleep much.”

Leliana smiled, “probably not.”

With a sigh, he climbed to his feet, numb as they were beneath him. Leliana took his place, small book in hand and bade him no more attention. There was nothing to do but to go to sleep.

He pulled back the canvas of his tent, and stopped. Where the glow of the fire touched the blankets and furs that made up his bed, a pale white foot poked out from beneath their layers. Zevran looked over his shoulder at Leliana, who was facing away, quite oblivious. Or so she would want him to think.

He felt the little tug in stomach, a familiar feeling as of late, as well as the easy smile he couldn't hold back. Shrugging off his extra layers, he crawled into the tent careful not to awake it's other occupant.

It was warm inside, her soft breathing and body heat keeping it so. Her silken tresses, were brushed and spread out like a dark halo against the fur. The heat she had created in her little nest settled in her cheeks, bringing out the natural blush she tried to hard to hide. He could watch her all night, if sleep evaded him. The little pout of her lips as she slept would be enough to distract him.

Carefully he slid under the covers, keeping his cold hands to himself no matter how much he wished to reach out and touch her skin.

Neria felt his presence even in her dreams, turning slightly towards him, nestling into the blankets beneath her cheek, and sighing softly. The gentle movement cause the furs to fall from her shoulder...revealing yet more pale skin.

Even in the dark, Zevran froze, his eyes trailing over the freshly bared skin, the line of her neck and the curve of her breast. His fingers twitched.

He must have made a noise because Neria's eyes fluttered open, still glazed with sleep.

“... _Zev...”_ she whispered, edging closer to him. Even now it still shocked him how she could sleep so soundly around him, and awake with no hint of fear, only recognition and a soft smile. She reached out for him, still feeling only blankets even in the limited space, “ _where_ are you?”

He grabbed her hand, the blanket falling to her waist, revealing yet more tantalising pale skin, even the jagged red lines from where she was attacked in the forest. If his eyes followed the blemishes down to the dusky pink of her nipple, it was only because of the heartbreak he still felt when he saw those scars. At least that's what he told himself as he forced his eyes back up to her face.

“Cariña,” his throat was dry, “please don't think that I am at all unhappy...but did you lose your clothes?”

Neria's eyes opened wide, instantly awake. She sat up quickly grabbing at the blankets around them to cover herself.

“Holy-” she started to swear, before she quickly covered her mouth to stop her from waking the others. Her staff glowed softly by her side, bringing twilight into the tent. The look on her face was too much for Zevran to bare, “stop it!” she kicked him under the blankets, his body shaking from keep his laughter silent.

“Forgot whose tent you were in?” he asked slyly.

Her scowl was softened by the fluttering of sleep still keeping her, “yes,” she said, “It was meant to be Sten's.”

“ _ouch._ Well...I better go get him for you then...”

That earned him another kick, but he merely laughed and grabbed her foot. His fingertips stroked the sole of her foot, even as she squirmed beneath his touch. She settled as his soft touched reached her ankle and the smooth skin of her leg. If she was wearing anything, she was wearing very little at all, Zevran noted. He looked up at her, a devilish curve to his brow.

She pressed her lips together shyly, looking perfectly dishevelled, in the faint glow. She was embarrassed, “I wasn't meant to fall asleep.”

“Oh?”

“But it was so cold and you had all these blankets...and-”

With a small tug on her leg, he pulled Neria closer to him. She squeaked. He tried to keep his smile kind, rather then the predatory smile he was used to using in the bedroom. She was a delicate thing, “and what exactly were you meant to do?”

Her blush was intense. Zevran watched with interest as the colour spread down her neck and along her décolletage. How far exactly did it go?

Neria replied into her hands as she buried her face. Any words were unintelligible.

He released a soft sigh, taking pity on his beloved. He brushed her hair back from her face, and she peeked out at him from behind her fingers, “ _Amor_ ,” he said.

Neria leant into his hand, holding onto his wrist, as if she could hide behind him instead. A little smile graced her lips, “it's...foolish.”

“Did Leliana suggest something to you?”

“...how did you...?”

“Orlesians are hardly subtle, my dear.”

“Antivans are?”

He chuckled, still brushing her ankle with his free hand.

It took a moment of silence, where she built her courage before she would speak. When she finally did, there was conviction in her eyes, “I was trying to...seduce you.”

“Oh?” he said again because he liked the way her nose crinkled every-time he said it. A light shiver passed over him at her words, pleasure that such a woman was trying to pursue him as if he wouldn't simply fall at her feet, “I am flattered...truly, but you do not need such games with me as fun as they can be. You need only ask.”

“I don't want you to be with me because I ask you to, or because we're angry or scared...or drunk. It needs to be your choice too.”

Zevran watched her, processing her words. He felt numb, and utterly full all at the same time, “I always choose you,” he said simply. Where had his confidence gone? He felt naked without it, and she was the one sat there with no clothes. Mere months ago he would have jumped her without a second thought, taken her against a wall or outside for the whole world to see. He would have ravished her, until she thought of nothing but him. And then he would have probably killed her...but that was something else he didn't want to think about any-more.

Instead he lifted her chin and kissed her as softly and as deeply as he could manage without consuming her and the thing chaining him to the earth in the process. She surrendered instantly to his touch, eyes closed, trusting her heart to him.

Fear seemed to leave her, for she was the one who closed the space between them, blanket fallen to her waist, choosing him to cover her bare skin instead. Her fingers trailed up the back of his neck, gently untying his hair, sending shivers down his spine as he nails trailed across his scalp. For someone so innocent she was at heart a sensual creature. His eyes fluttered open to see her own, dark and dilated but for the faint glow in its reflection.

...Fuck. He loved her.

He claimed her lips, delving and exploring every inch of her he could taste. She fell back against the blankets pulling him with her. He may have been on the attack, but she took all she could from him, accepting his kisses only to chase him and pull him back to her.

Neria whimpered as he released her, his nose trailing down to her neck, to press his lips, his tongue to her neck, seeking that sweet spot in her collar bone he'd found before. She clutched him to her, unsure of where else to put her hands, but to grip at his shirt.

“...Tell me...” he said between heavy breaths against her neck, “...when you want me to stop.”

Her grip on him only became tighter as if she was afraid of him moving away, “I want to feel you,” she whispered in his ear, her voice shaking slightly.

It took all of his strength to pull himself away, if only slowly. He was hovering over her, and yet he could feel the faint trembles coming from her body. Excitement and fear. He needed to slow down. Her eyes were full of longing, but she was still new to this, still unsure and all too willing to let him take the lead. He wouldn't take advantage of her trust.

He brushed her hair away from her face, keeping eye contact all the while. She watched him, a small smile growing on her lips. He couldn't help but smile back. This was...everything. The only thing that mattered any-more was her. He kissed her gently, nibbling on her plush lips.

Zevran kept her attention with his sweet kisses as his hand found its way to her stomach, fingertips grazing the soft skin. Slowly, he followed the line of her ribs to the curve of her breast. She breathed in deeply at his touch, not resisting as her body arched towards him. He cupped the warm flesh, squeezing gently, bringing his calloused palm up against her hardened nipple.

A small chuckle left him at the small mewling noises she didn't seem to realise she was making. She was so sensitive, so unused to such attention. He brought his mouth back to her collar-bone, then traced the line between her breasts, kissing her skin, with deliberate slowness. His eyes found hers, seeking her permission before he pressed the next kiss to the sensitive bud of her breast.

Warm heat pressed into his thigh, her leg hooking around his and her hips lifting from the floor. Zevran groaned, the movement so close to where he wanted it most. His cock was growing painful, so long had it been denied its desires. But he was determined to keep 'little Zevran' caged, for this time at least. This wasn't about him.

He encouraged the roll of her hips, pressing his thigh harder against her core, giving her something to release the tension she was beginning to feel. He sucked and teased her breasts, his free hand still roving the length of her body, but for the one place she really needed him.

“ _Please,”_ she whined, squirming beneath him, her cheeks red and her hair knotted beneath her. How could he ever say no to her?

He kissed beneath her breast, taking the soft touches down to her hip, until his knuckles brushed her lower lips, already slick with her desire. She grabbed at him as he stroked her, finding where she was most sensitive, where her toes would curl and she would whimper for him again and again.

She was trying to be quiet, aware of the rest of the camp so close by, but Zevran couldn't help but try and draw more breathless noises from her lips, addicted to the sound. Her breath quickened, her heart beating furiously beneath her skin.

He pulled away suddenly, leaving her without satisfaction.

Neria yelped, sitting up, even more dishevelled then before, “why did you stop!” she said a little too loudly. Zevran laughed, looking particularly devilish as she covered her mouth. She leaned forward and slapped his arm playfully, her little pout pushing out those plump lips of hers. He caught them between his teeth.

Between kisses, the tips of his fingers found her once more, brushing the little bud that nearly made her jump out of her skin. He swallowed her sounds, encouraging her to move against his hand now that she was sat up. She took to the new position with vigour, playing with his tongue, whilst he played with her, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her whole body was shaking from the tension.

It was nearly enough to pull him over the cliff with her, the way she cried against his lips, eyes squeezed tight as if her delicate body couldn't contain the sensations. He nuzzled against her cheek as she came down, tremors still passing through her. Her lips touched his neck, her breath hot and broken.

They were quiet for some time. Lazily, he stroked her back, welcoming the warmth of her body as she clung to him. His trousers were incredibly tight, but it wasn't the first time he'd been in a difficult position. There would be time for so much more.

Finally, when her body had calmed, she looked up, pressing her forehead against his. The thought came back to him, _I love you, I love you, I love you._ The feeling was overwhelming, the words caught in his throat.

She smiled, teeth nipping at her lower lip, “what about you?” she asked, fingers teasing at the edge of his shirt.

“Not tonight, cariña,” he said simply, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. She nestled into his chest, holding on tight.

“Do I get to choose you too?” she repeated his words.

“As long as you want me, I'm yours.”

 


	10. A little Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Will their faith be questioned?

Haven was tucked away within the mountains, far from other civilisation. At first appearance, the village was like any other, albeit quiet and rustic, but as proven time and time again appearances were usually deceiving. With bloody altars, strange children, and a chantry run by a man with an unusual coercion over his congregation, Neria was pretty sure they had found the right place.

Brother Genitivi, a withered, balding old man (with the usual historian's preference of knowledge over self-preservation) rambled as he led them into the old ruins. With a quick glance at her companions, they decided to leave him in the entrance way. He appeared quite content to amuse himself with taking rubbings and musing under his breath.

They were attacked around every corner, crazed heretics and demons jumping out at them at every opportunity. Neria's heart was in her throat. Despite the freezing temperatures, there was something about that place that felt awfully like their experiences in the tower. Sten was stone-faced and utterly unbothered by those trying to attack them, cleaving demons and humans alike with assured swings of his great-sword. If Neria practically clung to his back as they progressed forward, she only did it to protect their greatest weapon. At least no-one else made a comment, also happy to trail behind in his footsteps.

Zevran was by her side as always, hands brushing as they walked – their usual reminder of each-other's company, both in body and thoughts.

It was when they entered the caverns that she felt Zevran falter. It was only for a moment, but heading once more into the depths of a mountain, brought back only more unpleasant memories. Thankfully, this time they were climbing up rather than down, and it only made Zevran work quicker, eager to see the sunlight again.

The baby dragons should have been a hint as to what they would find at the summit, as well as the creepy worshippers who attempted to convince them to corrupt the ashes to release Andraste to her true form.

Her true form turned out to be a great, whopping dragon which looked far too much like the arch-demon for Neria's liking.

“Maker's breath,” Alistair exclaimed over her much cruder response at the monstrous creature flying overhead. She could feel the fear in her companion, no matter how well he hid it, “we're going to leave it alone, right?”

“It is a glorious beast. We would be honoured to fight her,” Sten muttered. She had never seen the look of awe in the giant's eyes before.

Zevran seemed content to simply stand as they spoke, his eyes on the open sky rather than whatever was flying around them. Neria shuffled through the snow to his side, hair fluttering against her face, “okay?” she asked.

He nodded, giving her a quick smile to put her at ease, “we're here for the ashes, are we not? It would be a shame if we were all killed before making the attempt,” he added to the conversation.

Alistair threw him grateful look, “let's just sneak past. I don't think it can see us from up there.”

“I'm sure it's more afraid of us, then we are of it,” Neria smirked, catching Zevran's eye.

Sten grumbled under his breath, but followed them nevertheless.

Thankfully, the dragon barely batted an eye or a wing as they passed by to the temple on the other side of the summit. As soon as they entered, the world behind them dropped away. The roar of the wind which had threatened to lift them from the mountain, disappeared, the doors closing of their own accord. A silence fell upon them. It was as if a spell had been cast to keep the sanctity of the temple intact, regardless of who entered.

A spirit in worn armour was waiting for them. Sten, ever cautious of magic, drew his sword, but one look from the guardian and even he faltered.

“I bid you welcome pilgrim,” the guardian spoke, his voice otherworldly, “it has been my duty, my life to protect the urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain until my task is done and the imperium has crumbled into the sea. You already know the urn contains the remains of the prophet Andraste.”

Alistair was pale, the little boy from the chantry once more when offered evidence of his faith. Neria reached for his gloved hand, giving it a little squeeze in support. They were here for Arl Eamon, the man who had practically been Alistair's father. She would not let him lose courage.

“We seek the ashes to save...to heal a good man. One who is capable of uniting this country at the verge of civil war,” he said sounding far older than his eighteen years despite his nerves.

“In turn, you have come to honour Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy. But it is not my place to decide your worthiness. The gauntlet does that,” his cold eyes drifted over them all, “if you are found worthy, you will see the urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the ashes for yourself. The Gauntlet tells the true pilgrims from the false. You will undergo four tests of faith, and we shall see how your soul fares. Before you begin, there is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy...”

Neria shivered as the spirits eyes finally settled on her. It was as if he could see through her, deep into her heart. Suddenly, she wasn't so certain she wanted to know what he could see.

“You have made many hard decisions, including defending your friend from punishment. If you had told your superiors, Jowan would never have poisoned the Arl, nor would the boy have been corrupted. Do you regret your choice?”

Of all the things she had thought the spirit might bring up, her time in the tower was not one of them. That life seemed so far behind her now. Was she not a different person from who she was then? Many things had changed, including her own outlook on life, love and death. But at heart...was she not the same?

“No. We have no way of knowing what would have happened to Conor. Without a mage to guide him, he may only have succumbed sooner. I do not wish to live my life dwelling on what might have been, or the person that I was. I tried to help Jowan because he was my friend, and I would do the same again. His choices do not define my own.”

The Guardian nodded thoughtfully, not responding to her answer. Instead he chose another to focus upon, turning to Alistair, then Sten. The giant seemed to think little of this line of questioning.

“...and now the Antivan Elf.”

Zevran rolled his eyes, arms crossed as if bored by the whole situation, “is it my turn now? Hurrah, I'm so excited.”

The guardian continued in his stoic fashion “many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of-”

“- _How do you know about that_?” Zevran cut him off.

Feeling the sudden tension in him, Neria gripped his arm, staring resolutely forward at the guardian in solidarity with her partner.

“I know much; it is allowed to me. The question stands however. Do you regret-”

“Yes. The answer is yes. If that's what you wish to know, I do. Now move on,” he answered in short, sharp statements, turning his gaze away. Neria quickly shot down the curious look from Alistair. She wouldn't ask Zevran what that was about. She already knew his regrets, and the woman he may have loved had their situation been kinder. Every-time this reaction was drawn from him about his past, she only felt the protective nature of her love only grow more fierce in her heart.

The spirit nodded thoughtfully, “the way is open. Good luck and may you find what you seek,” and with that the spirit left them in a strange silence, only broken by the thrum of magic as the seal on the door faded.

If they had hoped to find the urn in the next room, they were sorely disappointed. Having their morals and decisions questioned by the spirit was but one of the challenges that lay before them. It seemed Andraste was not an easy woman to please. Whether they were facing logic puzzles (with the added fear of falling into an abyss), or fighting the ghosts of themselves, the gauntlet was fierce in its desire for them to confront their own failings and to prove their faith. Here, in the holiest of places, Neria was surprised that it was less faith in the chantry and more strength of character that Andraste favoured.

The chantry was so prominent within the circle; Neria had never questioned her belief in the maker, for it seemed as if his presence was all around. Andraste was only part of his story, a human figure to show the divinity of the maker.

They passed by many of her statues, palms faced outwards, chin lifted, as were most depictions of her. But she had faced such trial, and hardship and only here it seemed that the true sorrow of her life showed upon her face. Why did they never show the sadness of Andraste? Why take away her mortality?

She reached out to brush a cold stone hand as she passed. If she could, she would try to learn more of Andraste, and the woman she was before the world had demanded so much of her, and in the end, claim her life.

It was the harsh burst of flame, that drew her from her thoughts. The way before them was barred by a wall of fire. Little could be seen on the other-side, but she could tell they were in a large hall, perhaps even, the inner sanctum.

Neria, raised a hand, attempting to dispel the flames, but all she could feel was something pushing back, refusing her magic, “I can't.” she said, dropping her hand.

“I don't think you're supposed to,” Alistair approached the altar set between them and the fire. Another test, no doubt, “there's an inscription. 'Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight'.”

Neria frowned, the words rolling over in her head, “are they really asking us to-”

“Strip naked in a temple? Alistair should be right at home,” Zevran winked at him.

Alistair's cheeks were instantly aflame, “ _what's that supposed to mean_?”

“Alistair, my dear friend, what little Templars get up to when the sisters aren't around is between you and the maker.”

“We never--!”

“Enough,” Sten cut over them, his deep, commanding voice bringing them to silence immediately, “let us move on.” without further discussion, the giant began to unclip his armour, laying it in neat lines at his feat – ever the disciplined soldier.

With a little nudge at Neria's elbow, Zevran followed suit, untying his leather cuirass and toeing off his boots. She stood still, watching her two companions strip, Alistair still coming to terms with what was being asked.

Why of all times, did she bring only men? Lying naked beneath Zevran had been one thing, but stripping in front of her friends had her frozen with embarrassment. She could only be thankful that Oghren was not with them. She did not wish to know what hairy mass was beneath that armour.

She felt a lithe body press against her back, “take a look at our friendly giant,” Zevran whispered in her ear, amusement in his voice. Unable to stop herself from obeying his voice (and that was the only reason), Neria looked.

Sten stood, arm's crossed, completely and utterly naked. The giant seemed unperturbed by the situation, merely tired of waiting. His bronze skin was tight over thick muscle, built like a tree trunk, he was a solid, formidable bulk of mass. It was the heavy cock between his thighs that made Neria choke.

“Killed many women with that thing?” Zevran called over his voice light and friendly.

“Qunari women can take more than your feeble offering ,” Sten said curtly.

Zevran laughed, pulling away from her to continue removing his own layers. With practiced hands, the assassin unlaced his leather breeches, easing them down over tanned, tattooed skin. It was no surprise at all that Zevran wore nothing beneath.

Neria pressed her lips together. He met her eyes with a knowing smile, and another cheeky little wink. Sten's definition of feeble was questionable at best. Zevran had indeed been modest, when referring to his own offering.

“Ugh,” Alistair groaned, turning away and quickly unfastening his own armour, desperate to get it over with. With little other choice, Neria followed, dropping her heavy fur cloak to the floor. Layers of fabric were unravelled from around her waist, between which belts held potions and runes for safe keeping. With a short breath, she lifted the final simple tunic over her head, leaving her in just her small-clothes.

Sten despite his cold nature, looked away into the fire, allowing her what little privacy they could afford. Alistair took a little longer to shed off his under-layers, and covered his manhood before turning back to them. For one long second his eyes glanced over her form, before he caught himself and looked at the floor, blush worse than ever.

Zevran's fingers brushed the small of her back, careful eyes watching Alistair.

“Let's go,” she shimmied out of her small clothes and quickly leapt through the flame.

There was no burning sensation, no sickening smell of cremated flesh. Only a gentle tickle against her skin, to let her know she had passed.

When she opened her eyes on the other-side, she was fully clothed once more. Alistair and Neria sighed in mutual relief, (Alistair never looked happier to be wearing his heavy armour).

“...It's real,” Zevran said softly, even...reverently.

High above them, atop a grand staircase, was an altar, upon which sat a golden urn.

“It's _real_.” Alistair repeated, smiling for the first time in days.

 

 

*

 

Their journey back down the mountain, was in higher spirits, especially once the secret (and thankfully shorter) passage was revealed to them. The dragon remained asleep upon her ledge, barely raising an eyelid at their passing. They travelled through the night desperate to return to camp rather than remain upon the frosty heights.

It had been Sten's idea to leave some camping equipment down in haven for their return, as even the giant had no wish to stay in the villager's homes, corrupted as they were.

Neria took first watch, despite some gentlemanly offers to let her rest. Her mind was buzzing with their adventure, and her own revelations regarding her faith. For the urn to be real...was that not proof? Proof of Andraste, and the stories leading to her death. And if she was real, then were all the stories? For the first time since she'd left the tower, she wished she could return to its cavernous libraries. She thirsted for more knowledge of the world.

But it was not just spirits and trials that consumed her. Whilst the final trial had been terrifying, by a whole new meaning of the word, and embarrassing to say the least, finding herself naked among her companions had allowed her a good look at a certain elf. Despite the intimacy of their most recent gathering, and despite _obviously_ knowing of its existence (she had felt it pressed against her more than enough times) she had never actually _seen '_ little Zevran' as he had often called it. _Little_ was not the word she would have used.

A little hum left her throat, that she quickly squashed down, back into the writhing heat within her belly.

It was only intellectual curiosity that left her so uncomfortable. It was only right to investigate further, after all he had already given a thorough study of her own womanhood. She almost squealed again, at the promiscuous nature of her thoughts, covering her face with her hands despite being alone in the dark. She wished her watch over, lest her fears overtake her and leave her running in the night.

When Sten finally emerged to take over, she gave him little more than a curt nod, before crawling into Zevran's tent.

It was dark, and not nearly as comfortable as his usual tent's furnishings, but she worried little as she crawled over him, straddling his waist. She descended upon him with a tirade of swooping kisses across his cheeks, under his jaw and his tender lips. He reacted instantly, no sign of sleep upon him, as his hands knotted in her hair holding her close, as he stole her lips for a deeper, lingering kiss.

“Ah, _Cari_ _ñ_ _a,_ ” he sighed into her rosy skin, sitting up and pulling her tighter against his hips, his hard, concealed length proving that she was not the only one aroused by the days events.

As she distracted him with kisses, she sneaked her hands beneath the hem of his shirt. He gasped as her cold fingers touched the warm skin of his lower back, but she only pressed herself tighter to him, craving his heat. She giggled into his neck, as he fought to remove her hands.

“Don't be mean! I'm freezing!” she cried, as he gripped her wrists.

“ _I'm_ the mean one?” he raised an eyebrow. He lifted her hands to his lips, warming them with his breath, massaging her fingers.

Neria watched him, warmth blossoming in her chest. She'd never really had anyone to look after her, nevermind cherish her. It was comforting...something she could easily get used to.

She waited patiently for him to finish, “am I adequate?”

“Not the word I would use, Cariña,” he kissed the inside of her wrist, her fingers instinctively delving into his golden hair.

“I want to try something,” she whispered into his ear.

This time when she went to remove his shirt, he allowed her, a curious look in his eye. He didn't fight as she pushed him back against the canvas floor, he simply stared at her with an eager trepidation. Why he somehow seemed nervous of her, even now, she could not fathom. Anyone would think she was the one with the colourful history.

She wondered what he was like when he was the assassin, taking what he wanted.

Perhaps one day he would show her.

She pulled herself away from his gaze, cheeks aflame as ever. Instead she focused on the bare skin before her. A leather cord tumbled over his collarbone, resting near his heart. A variety of little objects hung together: a wooden chest piece, a golden hoop earring, a thimble, a small knot of braided hair, and a swatch of leather.

“Where did this come from?” she asked.

“I always wear it.”

“You weren't wearing it before.”

“ _You,_ my dear,were distracted,” the tips of his fingers tapped up her thigh, “but you're right. I haven't worn it for a while.”

She frowned, touching each piece with delicate curiosity, “what are they?”

“Memories,” his voice was distant, if only for a moment. His eyes flicked back to her. A story for another time maybe.

For the moment he needed to be reminded of where he was. She ran the back of her hand over his collar-bone to where the tattoos grew spreading out over his shoulders and cut back down along the line of his ribs. By the hushed sound of his breath, she was drawing him back to her. She was fascinated by the dark ink and the precise patterns they formed. Everything about them, about him was so foreign, so different from her own world in the tower where everyone dressed the same. Zevran was unique, and he was hers.

She lowered her lips to his chest, pressing kisses against the dark lines in the hollows of his ribs. Her fingers explored of their own accord, greedy for the touch of another. When they brushed against a nipple, Zevran gave a low breathless laugh, his fingers reaching for her hair. Perhaps men liked that too.

Neria lingered longer than she intended, the nervous little quiver in her stomach stealing her confidence, but she was never one to be defeated. She kissed back up the length of his body, her tongue drawing up the line of his sternum. With that she claimed his lips once more, and he came to her hungry, his teeth nipping her lower lip.

His hands pressed against her, urging her to roll over and let him lead her once more, but that was not what she wanted, not tonight. She drew away from his kisses, and he followed her as if drawn by a magnetic force.

The tip of her finger trailed down between them, over the taught muscle of his stomach, to where the laces of his breeches were tied. He had already touched her...fair was fair, right?

His jaw trembled, “ _Neria_ ,” he said her name like a warning.

“Can I..?” she asked her voice far more confident than she felt. Her body was quivering, the anticipation killing her, and yet too scared to move. She needed confirmation, “...do you want me to?”

Dark eyes blinked. A small secret smile tugged at his lips as if he was unsure why he was smiling at all. She wondered if anyone had asked him before, and the possible answer threatened to break her heart in two.

He nodded quickly, kissing her once more, holding onto her hip like he was afraid she would slip away. She found herself smiling back into their kiss, allowing him to pull her back into a crash of lips and teeth.

Zevran released her hand from his hip, guiding her down to the ties of his breeches, hesitation fading. It only took a couple deft movements to release him. Her attention was kept by the taste of his tongue, but he gasped into the kiss as her fingers brushed the warm skin of his cock.

“Show me,” she asked against his lips.

In an instant, his fingers were around hers guiding with a firm but gentle grip, twisting at the head in well practiced movements. His cock was unbelievably hard from their dual attentions, his kisses fading as he fought for breath between small groans of pleasure. She'd never heard such noises from him before. In a moment of curiosity, she brushed her thumb over the head, and his mouth pressed into her neck at the touch, blunt teeth scraping the skin.

Free from his lips, she looked between them, a whimper leaving her at the sight of his hardened flesh, and his fingers entwined with hers around him. It felt euphoric, this feeling of control over him, of being able to give him such pleasure. She could only wonder what he would feel like inside her.

“ _Zevran?_ ,” she asked breathlessly.

He knew what she was insinuating, and he leant away from her, his hand slowing on hers, although he did not stop the movement. She wasn't sure if he could if he wanted to, “not yet,” he said in a pained voice, like he couldn't believe what he was saying, “next time,” he promised.

She pouted, and he gave her that look he always did, like he wanted to _devour_ her. It was enough to give her the confidence to try something else entirely. She'd seen it happen many times in the tower, backed up in small alcoves. Men and woman alike would disappear under others robes, and the recipient...well they would look like they'd seen the maker themselves.

Neria pushed herself back further on his thighs, giving herself room to sweep her back over her shoulder, and lower herself to his cock. Zevran froze altogether, as she swiped her tongue over the head.

He swore roughly, some Antivan curse she'd never heard him use before, but it sounded utterly filthy. His hand was suddenly in her hair, holding her still, “Neria you don't-”

She lifted her head, worried, “did I do something wrong?”

His cock pulsed in her now lone hand, “ _no,”_ her crow, looked dishevelled, his eyes full of longing, “but...you needn't.”

“...did you like it?”

He gave a half laugh, “...I practically invented the art.”

More than a little pleased with herself, and determined to continue, she tried again, following his earlier directions as she pumped his cock with one hand, and lowered her mouth back to the tip. She tried different ways of using the flat of her tongue, varying the intensity with which she gripped him. At some point he fell back against the canvas floor, his arm thrown over his eyes. She could no longer understand a word he was saying, but the way his fingers dug into the floor spoke volumes.

It was a mere minute before his grip on her hair tightened and he was trying to say something, but he seemed to forget he was still speaking Antivan.

She yelped in surprise as he came, falling back. Apparently men liked to make far more of a show, when it came to showing their gratitude, and she couldn't stop the surprised little giggle that escaped her lips.

Zevran breathed heavily where he lay, his eyes still squeezed shut. If she didn't know better she would have thought he would have passed out.

Her hand was still wrapped lightly around him, and her curious nature took over as she brushed her thumb over him, wiping the mess he had made. In a shot he was sat back up gripping her hand.

He was still wrecked, his head resting against her shoulder, “ _a moment_ ,” he breathed, “it's...been a while.”

“Was it okay?” she asked in a small voice.

“Okay, Amor? You did a better job of making me believe in the maker, than that spirit ever did,” he laughed against her, his lips kissing any bare skin he could find. She shrieked as he flipped her over, his kisses pressing down into her cleavage.

He lifted his head, “my turn?”

When he delved beneath her robes, and his tongue found her wanting, she cried, believing that she too may finally see the maker.

 


End file.
